


Ridiculously Late

by cinnamonFreak



Category: Homestuck
Genre: A/B/O, A/B/O dynamic, ABO dynamics, Desperation, Doodles, Drawings, Joking With Dark Themes, Knotting, M/M, Manipulation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Omegaverse, Other, Plotting, Smut-Driven With Plot, long-term schemes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24631339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamonFreak/pseuds/cinnamonFreak
Summary: Dirk Strider: Present.
Relationships: Auto-Responder | Lil Hal/Dirk Strider
Comments: 43
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Oops, I wrote this on my phone I should be studying. :I

You're tired.

You stare and the breadboard you're using and try to jam the wire into its hole, but the wire bends and misses and you hiss tightly and you are dead tired. Your hands are shaking and you feel like you might throw up. You try hard to ignore it, grabbing a resistor and trying to line it up. Sweat beads at your forehead.

  
Something flashes across your shades and you do end up heaving so you slide your desk chair away from your workspace. You hold your stomach and it churns. You try to repress the feeling, to ignore it. Not gonna let some stupid cold get you down. Besides, you're probably just dehydrated or something.

  
You shake, still holding the resistor. You don't heave, but your stomach squeezes. You decide to wait for the waves to pass, squeezing at the fabric of your shirt with a gloved hand. You read what's on your shades with a frown.

  
TT: Your temperature has risen approximately two degrees. 

  
You decide to pointedly ignore the message.  
Another wave of nausea hits you, and somehow it's worse. There's an ache low in your stomach. You grit your jaw. You're not supposed to be feeling worse here. You try to repress the feeling.

  
TT: You should really see yourself right now. 

  
You ignore this message, too, your grip across your abdomen increasing as your insides squeeze cruelly. The feeling continues to ramp up, having well passed the point of ignorable. You think maybe that your insides are going to break, something shifting inside of you and making your eyes water, and then you gasp when an internal pop winds you.

  
You're clumsy and shaking as you make your way to the ground from your chair, trying to catch your breath. Your stomach heaves again, likely from shock this time, and you cover your mouth with a shaky gloved hand. 

You're sweating buckets - or, any other water receptacle - and your body shudders without your consent. A feeling runs through you, and you soon associate it with anxiety. Is this an anxiety attack? The thought crosses your mind, but it feels much worse. And, the physical reactions appear to be too legitimate for this to just be your brain bullshit.

  
You shift on the ground, moving the two feet towards your bed. You swiftly grab your comforter, wrap it around yourself, and roll under the bed. Being in the enclosed space helps significantly, and you're able to curl up and hold your stomach there while another shudder crosses your body.

  
TT: Interesting choice. 

  
You ignore it. Your insides feel like they're churning, but now it's at least low enough for you to not make you feel like you're going to upchuck directly. You curl further in, trying to keep your cool. Your insides give a strong pulse and then ripple, and you notice a high whine that you realize belatedly came from yourself.

  
TT: So this is why your balls never dropped. 

  
You snarl quietly at the comment, though it hardly registers. You follow the noise with another tight whine. Your insides squeeze again and you bring your knees closer to yourself, your shoulder digging into a support beam of your boxspring.

  
The squeeze inside you snaps with a sense of finality, and warmth spreads in your jeans. Did you just fucking piss yourself? You shudder, feeling hot and sick, and then your lower half pulses and aches. Your stomach cramps, and a tangy smell fills the air.

  
Hal's comment sets in your brain when you whine high in your throat again and you grip your shirt tighter through the pain.

  
You are a beta, this is impossible. But, there had always been discrepancies in the classification - namely, your balls not actually dropping, and a lack of clear presentation. But you were too old for this. You'll be able to drink this year, you're a little over six foot, and this is all wrong. You release your hand in your shirt, your resistor mangled and wasted. You drop it to the carpet. Your skin is agitated, angry at the scratchy orange material from the 50's where it touches you and irritated further by the wet jean feeling. You'd thought you were just a low beta, or maybe you were just fucked up. Classless.

  
No. You're just late - ridiculously late - to the party. Fuck.

  
You shiver deeply, feeling the wet spot in your jeans spread and your abdomen cramp again. This is accompanied by another uncontrolled whine. You curl your gloved hand in your shirt again, sweat making for an unpleasant feeling of pleather against skin. Your tear ducts are leaking without your consent, but you sniff harshly against the feeling. The action is accompanied by an assault of the smells of all of your neighbors. You're not nose-blind, it turns out. It's dizzying, and you can smell them all with sharp clarity. You set your jaw and try to shut everything out, tense in your little ball with your comforter wrapped around you. You feel sick, but you focus on your breathing, your eyes closed now. You know Hal has more to say, but you focus hard and force yourself into sleep in hopes that this would pass. You can deal with it in the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirk: Take a fucking shower. Or don't.

You wake up with a screeching headache. You feel sicker than when you passed out.

  
Your eyes are crusty when you open them, and it takes a few blinks for you to focus in on your shades.

  
TT: You're awake, good.

  
You disagree. You note this with an audible whine, wiping at one of your eyes and then looking at your shades again. You feel drenched in sweat.

  
TT: You ready to deal with this like a big boy yet?

  
You shift under your bed, your body incredibly stiff. Your skin screams at you, and your jeans chafe and irritate your thighs. Some parts are dried and stick to your skin unpleasantly. Others are wet with the mucusy texture of slick, which has leaked onto the carpet you've begun to loathe. When you shift, the caked areas pull at your skin and make you whimper, and it stings where the denim detaches from your skin.

  
God, this is really happening. Or, it really happened. Your shirt is soaked with sweat, and you're panting like you ran a mile. You're weak and shaky, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. Your head pulses with your heartbeat - as do your jeans. Or, what's inside your jeans. You can't help another whine and you hate it. Absolutely loathe it.

  
TT: Clearly not. I have taken the liberty of pushing back your deadlines.

  
You blink at the message dumbly. You try to swallow, but your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth and makes a clacking noise. You're thirsty. You're not sure you've ever been so thirsty in your life.

  
In... a multitude of ways, but you can deal with that later.

  
TT: You're welcome.

  
You whine at the words, at the situation, and at how you are dealing with it. At how you can smell your neighbors, and at the disruption of your flow. At the inconvenience and the strain it's putting on you. At the lack of preparation, and the suffering it's causing you. It does nothing, and the sound comes out thin and raspy with dehydration.

  
TT: Eloquently said. Though, I suppose I must cut you some slack. You did just hatch a new snatch. Perhaps I should be thankful that I'm not at the whims of a sad, fleshy chassis. I know I would hate to be in such a pathetic state.

  
Even through your haze you can read the smugness. You snarl, curling up further. If you ignore this, it'll go away. You prepare yourself to settle down, ignoring the heat that's flushed your body. You're hard without effort or consent, and the area between your dick and your ass is pulsing, paired with an unpleasant and, frankly, unclean feeling where you figure your new cunt must be. You hate it. You don't want to deal with it. You squeeze your eyes shut, but after a minute your shades flash incessantly, irritating your headache further. It only stops when you open your eyes.

  
TT: Oh, no you don't. Buck the fuck up, Dirk. It's time to deal.

  
You huff. Every thought feels like effort, like pulling through thick mud. A shudder, paired with another fucking whine, goes through your body. It's also accompanied by a rush of slick into your jeans and a deep ache between your legs. You have never felt so horny in your life, but the feeling is far removed from you. Like a distant fact. It's much easier to ignore than you thought it could be. Maybe you're traumatized or something, but you have no urge to touch the new developments going on in your jeans.

  
TT: Crawl to the bathroom.

  
You shake your head uselessly, staying put. Hal starts the flashing light again and you whine, pulling back to get away and jerking. The movement tears your jeans from your skin in some spots and you feel your eyes start to water again.

  
"Okay, okay, fucking fine," you rasp. The light stops and you want to stay put, but your head is aching and you fear Hal starting the flashing up again. You shift, the comforter pulling with you, and you free yourself from under the bed, the frame scraping your arm on your way out. It hurts. Your skin feels itchy and burns, and everything around you is overstimulating. You squeeze your eyes shut, face-down next to your bed. The exposure causes a deep, shaking anxiety to settle into you and your stomach rolls. The fact that you're alone is highlighted in that moment and you actually fucking sob. You can't help it. It's pathetic. You don't go back under, though. You just sit there for a solid minute and shake, everything feeling terrible and bright.

  
TT: If you truly can't handle it, upload me.

  
You definitely ignore that one. You sit up slowly, leaning against the side of your bed. How the fuck are you supposed to make it to the bathroom? You're going to die. You're already exposed, and you're going to fucking die like this. If not simply from exposure, then from dehydration. You're going to die.

  
TT: Dirk, don't you want to be good?

  
The words send you spinning. What the fuck? Where did that come from? You scrunch your nose at the comment, a quiet growl in your chest. It's high and comical instead of low and deterring.

  
A cute, omegan growl. Fucking damnit.

  
TT: Jesus, just crawl to the fucking bathroom.

  
Oh. Right. That. You try again to swallow and it hurts your throat. You stare at the 20-odd feet between you and the bathroom. It seems impossible. You don't move. You also don't realize that your breath picks up, the prospect of going that far pairing with your exposure to make you feel sicker than you were before. You can't do it. There's no way you can make it there alive alone.

  
TT: If you can't do it, upload me.

  
"But you're not done."

  
TT: I can finish myself much more efficiently that you can.

  
You shake your head and whine again, pulling your knees to your chest for a moment. It hurts. Everything hurts. Your clothes hurt, your gloves are killing you, and your head is splitting. You're sweating like no tomorrow, and everywhere. Your under arms, elbow creases, knee creases, back, neck, hair, feet. Everywhere. You don't want to do this. You want to give up somehow.

  
What's wrong with you? You're fucking stronger than this. You're Dirk fucking Strider. You aren't going to let some standard biological function stop you for shit, that's bullshit.

  
You grit your teeth and force yourself to stand using the bed as a crutch. This is ridiculous. You are not going to let this get to you. You take a couple of steps towards the bathroom.  
You're Dirk _fucking_ Strider. The only thing you can't do is process dairy.

  
...

  
And make it to the bathroom, you find, when you stumble and fall to the terrible orange carpet. It drags on your skin and you want to sob. You don't. You whimper instead, going limp where you fell. Your epidermis hurts as a whole, and the fall shook you to your core. The anxiety in your chest flares hard. You're scared and you feel alone and small and terrified. You hate it. Your shades are tilted, but you can still read them.

  
TT: I did say crawl.

  
Your excuse for a growl comes back briefly in response.

  
TT: The voice command is active.

  
You whine for a moment because it's all you can do. Your face is scraped from the carpet, throbbing with your head and your sex. You're quite in tune with your heartbeat in that moment, you muse distantly. You consider moving again, but you could only will yourself to do that if it were to go back under the bed. 

You take a breath. It's laced with a whine and pathetic. You lick your lips, but they're cracked and your tongue is dry so it does nothing. You feel like you're going to die, and you might even wish you would. You're panting in a heap, unable to cope with this development for shit. You just want the cramping to stop, and for some water. The idea seems impossible.

  
Especially on your own.

  
You close your eyes and prepare for the worst.

  
"Activate project Critias."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate myself, & this, and me for writing this <3 <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Project Critias: Activate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt proofread this or anything else so far sooo
> 
> EDIT: fixed the fuckin spacing damn

There's a whirr behind you. You try mildly to try to shy away from it, but you know what it is. There's a pause, and the sound of rummaging through tools can be heard. You stay put, pulling your arm so you and push up your shades and hide your face into the sweaty crook of it. You hate how poorly you're coping with this.

  
You don't know how long you sit and wait, but eventually there's a hand on your shoulder. You peak your head up, and a metal framework stares at you. If you hadn't been so accustomed, the skull-like structure likely would've scare you. But, instead, you're relieved. You don't think, your head lolling back to expose your neck instinctually. Your nose knows that you're not doing it for a human, but it's _something_ , so you can't bring yourself to mind too deeply.

  
"You didn't even use rail-to-rail op-amps on me, huh?" The voice is tinny and synthetic. Void of emotion and made up of recordings of yours. It gives a quiet "tsk" and you whine, stretching your head further back for him. The servos in his spine make a mechanic sound when he shakes his head. He doesn't look like he should have enough support to stand, his spine exposed below the framing of his rib cage. You know very well that he's stronger than you, but his form is so thin and wiry that it looks like a harsh wind could blow him over. But, scoops you up with rail-thin arms, the metal digging into your skin, and it seems effortless.

  
"I have half a mind to be offended, but it seems like you forgot that part." He's referring to the empty skull he's in possession of. All of his hardware is in his chest, so you could cut his head clean off and he would still be operational save for the sensors in his eyes.

  
His words are lost on you, and you go limp in his arms. He brings you to the bathroom and deposits you onto the floor with surprising grace. You shift to a sitting position, watching him plug the bathtub and turn on the water. It makes you nervous because you know that he is far from waterproof at the moment. He'd tuned the fan in the center of his chest so it glowed red, a honeycomb lace of metal covering it. He's careful, though. When the water is running he steps back and kneels in front of you. You're leaning against the outside of the tub, slightly slumped. Your breath is shallow, every other laced with a whine, and you feel like absolute garbage. Your abdomen cramps in small waves, and you're still soaking your clothes with sweat and slick.

  
He takes off your shades and you give a half-hearted hiss, squinting against the light from the window. He examines them, and then you watch him snap them in half reverently. All you can do is blink dumbly. He sets the remains on the counter, splinters hitting the ground as he does so. He then takes one of your hands and begins taking off your glove.

  
"Just let me take care of it, Dirk," he says. It's a lot smoother now, and you know he's modding his voice as he goes. He turns your glove inside out so it can dry, cooling sweat on your palms. He takes your other hand and repeats the process while you watch in silence. Your skin is blotchy and irritated where the gloves were, and you can see the outline of them on your hands because that's where the skin's less red. He shifts you so you're leaning forward against your knees and he removes your shirt. The skin is worse across your chest, and you have the urge to scratch at it but you don't. His touch is careful, his fingers cold and metallic with the wired joints exposed. He sets aside your shirt and leans you back up. The cool material of the tub is nice, but your skin sticks to it so it tugs painfully when you shift.

  
He moves your legs and undoes your belt, taking it off. He then unbuttons and unzips your jeans, working them down. You shift to help, whining when the skin of your back sticks to the tub's wall and pulls. He takes your boxers off with them and tears gather in your eyes when the denim tears away from your thighs. He gets your socks off with bunch, placing the clothing on top of your shirt. When you look down, you see that your thighs have it the worst. They likely would have blistered had you put off dealing with it any longer.

  
To make matters worse, you're hard, and your dick is leaking useless, but this is outweighed by the pool of slick that drools onto the ground. Your... new bits are against the floor and you find the idea mildly disgusting. You shudder involuntarily, and slick rushes from you, expanding the pool under you.

  
"Get into the tub, Dirk." He stands and turns off the water, waiting. It takes you a minute to process, but you brace yourself on the side of the tub and stand, the water splashing mildly when you get it. It's lukewarm, and it feels cool on your skin. You'd been expecting it to be hot, but you find this to be significantly better. You lay back in the water and sigh.

  
"Clean yourself off. I'm going to work on some upgrades," he says. You whine, looking over to him. The light makes your head hurt, and your mouth is still dry. You're damn near ready to start lapping at the tub water. When he looks at you, you can see through the sockets of his eyes. It doesn't much faze you. His lower lash line is studded with sensors - two video, two light, and one temperature on each. He tilts his head, and it is the only form of expression he's really capable of.

  
"I'll be back. You'll be fine," he says. You quiet until he adds "come on now, you can be good for me, Dirk," which is met with a growl. It sounds like a small dog's. He'd been quick to acclimate to his tone capabilities, so the true levels of condescension are apparent in his words.

  
He sighs, grabbing the mason jar on the counter you use for water and filling it. He hands it to you and you drink it down quickly, your growl silencing as you focus on drinking. Some of the water slips down your chin and into the tub, and you're gasping for breath when the jar is empty. He takes it and sets it back on the counter.

  
He uses your clothes you wipe up the small puddle you left, and then gathers them up and leaves. You manage to not whine like a fucking child when he does.

  
It takes you a minute to process what you're supposed to be doing. You grab the soap bar eventually, holding it in your shaky hand for half a second before it slips into the water. You jump at the sudden splash, biting your lip to avoid yelping, and you settle down long after the ripples of the water.

  
You can hear activity in the other room, but somehow it's comforting. You dip your hand under the water and grab the soap, leaving it under the surface while you slide it over your skin. You start at your shins, and then work of your thighs, one at a time. The dried slick rubs off easily.

  
You spread your thighs and consider exploring, but you decide to wash your upper half first. It's easy, and your irritated skin is soothed by the water and the cleanliness. Your head feels a little clearer thanks to the cool water and the lack of overstimulation. Hal had left the light off, so the bathroom was dark save for the light streaming in through the window and the door.

  
With your body clean, you grip the soap bar and spread your thighs, your legs bent so your knees are outside the water. You hesitate, looking at where your dick stands stiff, part of it peaking out of the water. You take it in one hand and squeeze. A harsh shiver goes through you, accompanied by somehow more slick rushing into the water. It's stained brown, and you recognize that it is likely due to blood from presentation. You use your other hand to slide the soap bar over your thigh, biting your tongue as you approach the newly-taken real-estate.

  
Then, you slide it over your cunt - to clean it, of course. You moan audibly at the contact, your head tilting back. The feeling becomes your entire world. You release the soap bar and rub at your entrance, pretenses forgotten. It's slicker than the water thanks to the mucus you're producing and the soap, and you can feel it pulse in time with your dick with your touch. You gasp quietly at the feeling that pours through you, biting your lip to silence yourself. You take a moment to breathe heavily through your nose, and then you press your first finger in with an edge of haste, somehow assuming the experience would be a positive one.

  
You immediately regret the decision. The inside seems to have some protective film, and pressing against it causes pain to shoot through you. Your insides cramp in response, your world spinning and your stomach churning. You're quick to withdraw your hand with a whine, squeezing your dick with your other hand. You're holding it up out of the water, and it pulses and leaks. Your insides still burn with undeniable need, and somehow you feel _empty_ , which is not something you have experience with. So, you start jacking off the old fashioned way, focusing in on that to try to take away from the discomfort you just caused yourself.

  
It doesn't take the edge off, but it does distract you from the pain. The feeling of stroking yourself is both amplified and muted in your state. It doesn't ramp you up the way it once did, but it does make your entrance tingle with need. You continue to pump yourself for a while, but it only serves to cause frustration and an overwhelming need. Slick continues to be produced, some even mixed with a small amount of fresh red blood, and pre dribbles from you, but the longer you jack yourself the more intense the need gets. It leaves you desperate and incredibly frustrated, far from pushing you towards any edges you want to be on.

  
So, you move your other hand down under the water again and slow your strokes. You take a breath, and then cautiously use your finger to make contact with your entrance, your touch light. It makes you moan again, and you sink a little further into the water. You keep pumping yourself clumsily, but you focus much more on simply circling your new snatch, your finger between the slick lips of it. It causes a shudder to go down you and your mind rolls. You feel like you're floating with the feeling, your eyes watering with the sheer intensity of it. It works you up significantly more quickly than just jacking off did, and the water makes an echoing splash when your knees twitch. Your body's reactions are involuntary, every ounce of your focus based around how glorious rubbing yourself feels.

  
You feel yourself start to get close, another involuntary moan escaping you. It's much more intense than jacking off has ever been, your abs tightening and your body shaking. Your breath comes in heavy pants, and you keep moving your finger around your entrance. Your breath hitches and you move your finger a little faster, squeezing your dick lightly and pulling down a little while everything pulses in time. You're so fucking close, every fiber in your being humming in anticipation of-

  
"Having fun?"

  
You hiss loudly when your jolt, your hands jumping away from yourself. Your face is hot and you're shaking, feeling your lower half pulse angrily at you for stopping. Your head spins towards the door, and Hal is standing there holding a towel. You can feel your heartbeat high in your chest, and you're left trying to catch your breath. You grumble and sink back into the water, frustrated and humiliated, and Hal approaches and kneels by the tub.

  
"You didn't even wash your hair," he says. You whine, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. He looked significantly more formed now, having found the charcoal casing you'd made for him. It rounded him out and humanized him, and the seams glowed red. The fucker stole your LED strips. You don't get a good look, though, instead busying yourself with your shampoo and trying to ignore him.

  
Within minutes, he's helping you out of the tub. He's more water resistant now with his outer shell, so you're fine with taking his hand, but you pop the drain yourself. You can't bring yourself to look at him as he has you stand and dries you off, but when you're dry he tilts your head up. The pads of his fingers are covered with a thin layer of silicon, so his touch feels room-temp. You look up at him because you're forced to, missing your shades immensely. His expression is blank, but you see he found the headpiece you'd made. He has on shades, one of your spare pairs, and his synthetic hair is course and messy, longer than yours is. He has a nose now, and lips. He looks like a person now, only grey and lined with red. You stare up at him for as long as you're able, trying to imitate his passive gaze and doing an average job.

  
When you finally blink, he lets out another "tsk" and you can tell he used the same sound clip as when he did it earlier. Your lips move so you can say something, but before it gets out your ears pick up on a growl. It's from an alpha, clearly, but it lacks some of the harmonics that would make it feel natural. It's coming from Hal. You can't help the way your chin tilts up to expose your neck for him a second time, your eyes sliding shut. He scoops you up, likely triumphant, and brings you back to your room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmmmmmmm shit might get weird after this who knows


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is the porn part. Or. The beginning of it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this could be construed as dub con so like watch out

Your eyes are closed when Hal lays you on the bed, but you open them when you feel the action. You have half a mind to scramble to go back under the bed, but when you look around you see that Hal had arranged your pillows and blankets into the loose form of a nest. He'd even lined the center with towels - which, good, because slick is already streaked down your thighs and you do not have a mattress cover. 

You shudder, and then you fluff at the pillows with mild wonder, rearranging them the slightest bit. You rub your wrist over them, even though they already smell like you, and then you look up to Hal. 

You're being unnecessarily emotional. You try to school your face, but your lips part and a pleased coo comes out instead. It makes your sound docile and fluttery. You frown at the slip, trying hard to get yourself under control. 

"Don't hurt yourself there," Hal teases. His words are spoken over the growl coming from his speakers, but they don't mix naturally. He sits down next to you. You must look confused because he explains, and when he does he's already found a way to lace the growl into his words seamlessly. 

It's what you would have sounded like had been an alpha, you note. 

"I can't leave my omega alone now, can I?" He smirks. His silicone casing smiles at you, and it looks so lifelike. His face is an exact replica of yours, and it was a bitch and a half to cast. There are seams along the jawline that could go for being shaved down, but it's an easy fix, and it almost comes across as stubble. You want to growl at his words, but you can't seem to bring yourself to care with that tone. 

He gestures for you to come close and you are confused, but you do scoot closer. He guides you by the shoulder once you're in range until your head is resting in his lap. It takes you a while to get comfortable there, his thighs made of a light metal rather than coated in silicone, but eventually he moves a throw pillow he must've gotten from the futon and sets it in his lap and you finally settle down. 

You lay on your side. He plays with your hair, his fingertips catching mildly in your wet mane. You didn't bother with conditioner - something that truly shows your state - and it makes the catching worse, but he eventually settles his hand in your hair and administers little scritches instead. He continues to make low, ambient alphan noises, which relaxes you in some senses. It serves to humanize him further, but it also makes the pulsing need between your knees worse. 

You lay there for a while, trying to ignore the frustration you're feeling. You don't know how much slick you were initially producing, but it feels like the levels have ramped up. It slides down the front of your thigh and soaks into the towel below you, and every so often you can't help but shudder, which causes slick to rush out. Eventually, you whine very softly and quite involuntarily. Part of you hopes Hal would leave so you could go ahead and take care of the overwhelming need you're experiencing. 

Instead, he responds to the noise with a new sound file. He croons for you, low and long. You freeze for a moment, feeling your entrance pulse involuntarily. Your breath hitches as you try to stop yourself, but you croon right back, sounding desperate and needy. Hal's lack of scent is highlighted, and you grip the towel below you as your head tilts and your shoulder lowers, trying to expose your neck as far as you're possibly able. He laughs, delicately tracing his fingertip over the length of your neck, and all you can do is shake and whine. 

"You look pathetic like this." His words are deep and growled, and your brain tries to process what he said over the screeching desire the tone feeds into. You don't move, but your shaking increases, your head still stretched to the side to present yourself for him. You're leaking slick as fast as you would in a rush, your entrance pulsing with pure need. He moves his finger over where you would be marked in little circles and you shudder, your fist squeezing tighter in the towel. 

You wait there until your neck starts to cramp, your breath coming in quick pants and your eyebrows pinched. Your body burns brightly with need, your abdomen cramping and your dick leaking, but the wave begins to pass. You shift a little, and you think you might be able to gather yourself, but Hal croons again. The quality of the sound is much better, sounding much more like Hal's voice - or, your voice, in some senses, but spoken through Hal in a way you have no ownership over. You return the sound before Hal has quieted, your knees pinching together and tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. Your vocal chords crack, and you take in a broken breath before wailing out another croon, stretching your neck out until it hurts. 

Hal actually shushes you at that, pinching the base of your neck firmly. You cut off your noise with a moan that comes out wet and almost sob-like, your body jerking. You feel slick pool at your hip, your skin cool where it's coated from the leakage. You can't think, your breath frantic and your mind well passed hazy. You have never felt this caliber of need before, your entire world pinpointed on the pulsing want that billows up in you. 

Hal rubs his thumb over the place he pinched and it's _not enough._ You really do sob now, turning your face to wipe it on the pillow below. He laughs at you, but it's still growling and muddles your brain. He moves you to your back, and you feel the towel squish with how much you've leaked onto it. He holds your face, and it takes a full minute for you to catch your breath in the slightest. 

He waits for you to open your eyes. When you finally do, you see yourself in his shades and you can see why wearing them is so disarming to people now. Your pupils are blown wide in your reflection, almost to the point where it looks like you're rolling on some drug or amother. It's hard for you to look at yourself, but Hal holds your face to keep your gaze on him. 

Part of you wonders if he would leave if you asked him right then. You feel maddened with heat, and your patience is wearing thin. But, you don't know that he'd do as requested, and he's somehow comforting despite all the shit he pulls, so you don't ask. You're not sure how your view of him would change if you'd asked him to leave and he said no. 

This is alongside the fact that you don't really want him to leave. 

"Need any help there?" He smirks, and you have to admire his ability to show condescending superiority through his voice. You don't know how to answer, so you don't. You want help, but being having Hal do it is a whole new layer of painful humiliation. You continue to stare up at your reflection. A whine escapes your lips and part of you hopes that that's a sufficient response. He continues to growl in his chest, and the sound soothes you. A large portion of your mind wishes that it were accompanied by some sort of smell, hoping to identify Hal as a person, as someone who's there for you and not just a machine. But you're not completely sure that he is there for you, and he is just a machine. 

You think he must've taken the whine a sufficient response because his hand trails down your abdomen, a tingle running through you with it. The rubbery texture catches on your skin, and your ab muscles tense and shake as you wait. 

You'd decided the silicone was the way to go with his hands and face. Waterproof, sufficient to meet his needs, and able to match the general wear and tear of every day life. It would be easy to replicate and replace as needed. You'd decided not to strictly adhere to the standard human aesthetic in the sense that you'd gone for black rather than skin color. You thought a fake fleshy tone would have seemed tacky, but you suppose you could have asked for his opinion. You didn't. Part of you doesn't think that you would have ever uploaded him had it not been an emergency. It seemed like too much of a risk to simply let him do what he wants. 

Your current position might very well prove the point, but it also makes it harder for you to care about the fact. 

Your eyes close as he grips your hip, and you find yourself shaking. You whine again, in anticipation now as you accept the direction this is going in with a readiness that you know you should be ashamed of. You once again consider asking him to give you time to deal with the situation on your own, but you don't. Maybe you feel indebted to him because he's essentially saved you. Without him, you'd probably still be jammed under the bed, dehydrated and with rashy thighs. 

He doesn't move past your hips, and you feel frustration bubble in you. You'd been so close to getting off earlier and the fact just feeds into your frustration. You consider taking over and just getting yourself off, but that goes against your body's need to give itself to the alpha figure you've latched onto. On top of that, it would likely give him further material to use to rib you, and you accept this as a reason to give up control. Somehow, it seems less humiliating to just lay back at let it happen that it does to do it yourself in front of him. 

When he continues to dally at your hip, you look up at him with some level of expectation. He seems to be waiting for something, but you're confused as to what. You whine at him helplessly, having to make eye contact with yourself in his shades once again. 

"You want me to touch you?" He asks explicitly. You nod too quickly. Your head is spinning with the craving in your gut. He crafts a chuckle as if were under his breath and you feel his hand travel down. You close your eyes again, shivering as he moves it up your thigh and gathers up slick. Your breath hitches as he gets close to you, but he passes over your cunt and instead uses his newly-slicked hand to wrap around your dick and squeeze. 

You gasp, but it lifts into a frustrated whine as you arch up into the touch. You bare your neck for him, tears gathering in your eyes because you already know that won't be enough. It still sends pleasure coursing through you, muted and fueling your interminable frustration. 

He strokes you, the first few mechanic and clunky before he gathers grace and fluidity, the slick aiding the touch significantly. You squirm, feeling tears slide into your hair. Your center clenches as your body draws tight. You can't help the way you rut into his hand, still squeezing a hand in the towel below you as you try to focus through the rolling waves of pleasure. Your hips jump when he holds you at the base, pulling the skin taut in a pleasurable but far from relieving manner. He laughs again, growling and low, and you whine in response as he holds his hand there. You can't seem to breathe, your thighs shaking as you try to push up into his hand, mind taken up completely by the sensations you're victim to. After a minute, he moves his hand again, and you sputter on a gasping breath, frustration blooming further in your stomach. 

He continues to stroke you, watching you fall apart at the feeling. You leak obscene amounts of pre onto your stomach, each stroke effective in taking a piece of you apart. Your breath comes out wet, and a particularly pleasurable twist causes you to outright sob. Your back bows so your head lifts, and you hold your face with one hand, unable to catch your breath and sobbing again. It gets worse as it continues on, deconstructing you utterly and completely. You feel like you may snap, your body jerking and writhing with each stroke now. You're near hyperventilating, your whole body flushed. The only thing you're capable of processing outside of the pleasurable touch is the pulsing need at your entrance. It boils inside of you, causing your brain processes to short so you are relying on instinct alone. 

Hal just watches you tear apart in his lap from his touch, passive. You know he knows that it isn't what you need, but he doesn't do anything about it. You honest to god weep there, sobbing and gasping for wet breaths, the overwhelming desperation failing to wipe out the cold humiliation you're feeling completely. You spread your knees and arch your hips, trying to show him what you want, and slick drools from your entrance when your hips lift. You sob again, and he uses his other hand to remove yours from your face, staring down at your. 

He croons again, and the noise shatters you. You're broken down into sobs that break up the desperate noise of you trying to return it. You're hiccuping, and you can barely breathe. Your body shakes and jolts, reminding you that an alpha had called for you and you have gotten nothing. You aren't even able to get a proper croon out in response, too wracked with sobs and gasps. 

"Oh, come now, Dirk. I am touching you, after all." He smirks, his rhythm slowing to administer deep pumps with a firm grip. You dig your heels into the bed and let out a long, loud whine. He tsks and shushes you. 

"Easy now, or the neighbors will hear what a slut you're being." You turn your head away from him like he slapped you and shake. Your stomach rolls with mild nausea, and you don't know what to do with yourself. You're flushed and feverish, the need bringing you to a near panic. You're distantly aware that you're being ridiculous, and that you could just touch yourself, or get your shit together, but you feel compelled to play his game. It's an innate need to please, and it come from deep in your bones and drives you harder than anything you've experienced. 

In a last ditch attempt to get him to find you appealing, your body goes fully limp in true submission. Your knees splay out and your head lolls, your eyes half-lidded. Hal scoffs, but you don't even twitch, panting quietly and staying limp. He squeezes your dick and your thigh twitches reflexively, but you actively don't move. He makes a pleased noise at that. 

"Do you want me to touch your pussy, Dirk?" He continues to stroke you, but very lightly now. You want to cringe at his phrasing, but you stay limp. He doesn't speed up or slow down his stroking, toying with you. 

You give him a very small nod. He makes another amused noise and rests his hand on your thigh. You can feel yourself leaking slick, and you wait for him to touch you. You try moving one knee just the slightest bit further apart, but his growl turns to something mildly angry, and you freeze and then go limp again. He keeps his hand on your thigh. 

"You have to say it, Dirk." He doesn't move, waiting for you. You clench your jaw the slightest bit. "Tell me you want me to touch your pussy." 

You stay relaxed and docile. Your heart is racing, and it's difficult to stay as still. A breathy whine escapes you, a wordless plea, but Hal still doesn't move. You feel your insides twinge, and you're suddenly aware that if he doesn't touch you, your body will find other ways to prove your submission. You'd rather avoid that, even if the cost is acknowledging that you want this. 

"Go on, then," Hal says as you lick your lips. You close your eyes, taking a shaky breath that's far from calm. Dried tears crackle at the corners of your eyes. 

"Please," you whimper. He rubs your thigh, and you resist the urge to writhe. 

"Please what?" You shake as your body tenses without you moving. You feel panic build in your chest and you try to keep yourself under control. 

"Please touch it," you respond hastily. Your voice is as quiet as you can possibly make it. 

He moves his finger to just barely glide up, stimulating the hairs of your lips and nothing else. Your breath hitches, but it's far from enough. You spread your legs further, trying hard to pull yourself together. 

He continues to just barely brush over you, and your entrance twitches. You can feel your heartbeat as you flutter around nothing, and you sniffle. It goes on for a minute, made up of you forcing yourself to stay limp and trying to gather yourself enough to speak. You sob out your words, quiet and whiney, knowing that you won't get the stimulation any other way. You keep your eyes closed, your inside rolling with shame and pure need. 

"Just rub my fucking cunt, Hal. Please." You sound truly pathetic, but it works. He's smug as he dips his finger between your lips, rubbing at your entrance evenly. You don't even care, moaning out at the feeling. You twitch and pulse, sent spinning into another plane of existence. You stay limp, or at least try to, feeling pulses run through your body. Your eyelids flutter, your eyes rolling. 

He continues to move his finger up and down between your lips, the action everything you needed in the world. Your thighs shake with the effort to stay still, and moans come out unfiltered. You can still hear him growling, but you can't focus on anything other than the satisfying pleasure that comes from the touch. 

Your breaths are shallow, the feeling building up quickly. He makes another pass with his fingertip and you let out a low moan, feeling yourself being pushed towards the edge after a long, frustrating trek to get there. He centers on your entrance, his finger just barely pressing in, and the spell is broken as your hips jump up to meet it. You can feel yourself perspire all over as your cunt pulses, every muscle in your body growing tight. 

"Fuck- fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," you find yourself babbling. You squeeze around nothing, heels digging in hard. It's an effort, you feel yourself on the edge and you have to force yourself to stay there, new muscles rippling. You clench your jaw and a suppressed noise tears from your throat as you finally, _finally_ feel yourself finish. It comes in waves of pulses, accompanied by somehow more slick, and all of your tension runs out of you. Your hips roll in soft little waves against Hal's finger reflexively, and your mind goes blank. He keeps moving his finger back and forth across you, slowing down, and your pulses slow to a stop. Cum is splattered over your chest, but your dick hadn't even been on your mind. It twitches in time with your cunt and Hal continued to rub. It feels good, but you push his hand away wordlessly as it begins to feel too good. You relax in his lap, tired and trying to regain your breath. Your body hums pleasantly, and you feel better than you have since this started. You consider thanking Hal, but decide against it. Instead, a weak coo comes from your lips. He makes a noise that sounds like him clicking his tongue, and you take it as affectionate. 

"Next time, we'll actually get something inside of you, pet," he says. You hum and wave him off in some docile form of agreement, relaxing where you are. He moves you, wiping you down with a towel and moving you to take the one that was utterly soaked by your slick. You close your eyes and rest as you hear him pad off, and you feel him replace the towel and move you so you're laying back again. 

He cleans you with what you assume is a baby wipe, gentle with your tender skin. A purr build from your chest, and you remain complaisant to his ministrations. He sits you up and hands you water, and you blink your hazy eyes and take it, drinking some down. When you're done, he takes it and then presses a granola bar to your lips instead. You take a couple bites dumbly before you decide you're done and move to lay in your nest again. You're back to purring quietly, relaxing. Hal moves around a bit, and then eventually he sits next to you. He puts his hand into your hair, petting you soothingly. Your purring gets louder, constant and rumbling, and he stays with you until you fall asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ill update the tags soon but this might get a lil manipulative after,,, this chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: on man i hope its not obvious i just was obsessed w/ smells like belonging and wanted to write my own (super tropey) abo fic  
> also me: uses one of the story titles as my tagline. facepalm oml.  
> also. did not proofread this even once hahaha

You wake up to the soft sound of a fan, and a heartbeat that doesn't shift with the chest your cheek is pressed against. The heartbeat is synthetic, you gather, but it's a nice touch. 

You purr, shifting. A smell distantly catches your nose and you sit up. Neither of you say anything, but Hal does start up another ambient growl. It's pleasant. There's a dull ache between your knees, but it's easy to ignore in favor of the smell wafting towards you. Your stomach growls, and you're handed a bowl of fried rice. You blink, glancing between it and Hal for a moment before taking the provided chopsticks and eating. You're starving, and this aids the taste, but the meal is significantly higher quality than anything you could have made on your own. 

Another clear reminder than Hal has done nothing but improve this experience. If your brain were clear, you'd loathe the fact, and how smug it would surely make Hal. 

You make quick work of the meal, and then Hal takes the bowl back. He replaces it with a glass of water, which you drink, and then he takes that as well. You slump back against the pillows, looking up at Hal as he moves. 

Every time you've seen Hal, he's looked a little different. He's wearing clothes now - yours - and it makes him look very human. He must have adjusted some things in his spine, because his posture is natural, casually slouched instead of impossibly perfect. His face is the same, shades still on, but his hair is cut and neat. If he had skin, you'd think he were a person without question, but instead he had the rubbery casing that gives him away. 

He gets up and you watch him go, laying on your side and waiting for him. You consider jacking off, but you're more interested in watching the door until he gets back. Something in the room catches your eye, and when your focus shifts you realize that he'd finished the projects you'd been working on. You're unsure of how to react to that, but the commissions are ready to be sent out on schedule, so you can't really complain. 

He comes back with a wet washcloth and sits down next to you again. He nods and you nod back, spreading your knees for him wordlessly. He cleans your thighs and then, very delicately, your cunt and cheeks. You feel warm, and the fact is made worse by the way a little more slick drips from you directly after you're cleaned. You look away, your chest aching for your shades. 

"Tsk, what a mess, Dirk. Does someone need help with that?" He asks, wiping up the fresh slick with another corner of the cloth. You gasp and spread your knees uselessly, your hips canting upward into the touch. He returns the cloth to your thigh to rest and looks at you. 

You look back at him, your gaze blank but holding more self-awareness than you were the day before. You can't help but think that he looks incredibly human, and you wish you could smell him. You nod at him, and he shakes his head. "Come on, Dirk."

What was he waiting for? Your eyebrows knit for a brief moment, your gaze distant, and then your look up at Hal again and decide to croon, trying to spread your knees further still. Your hips are sore, but you ignore the fact, your hands going to rest on either side of your head to bare your wrists for him. You track him with your gaze, waiting impatiently. 

He sighs, still looking up at you. A moment passes between the two of you, and realization slowly dawns on you. It spreads warmth through your chest. You think back through your muddled brain. He did this before, too. He'd toyed with you cruelly, but he'd made you say it. 

He's waiting for your verbal consent, you realize. This is his way of making sure you want it. Or, at least, freeing himself of any blame otherwise. The realization causes tears to burn in your eyes, and you blame it entirely on the excessive hormones. You take a shaky breath and look at Hal. 

He doesn't seem to know how to react to your response, and he begins to pull his hand away. You quickly cover his with your own, pressing his hand and the rag into your thigh. Your other goes to cup his cheek. It's intimate. You nod at him, swallowing. You're burning up, but steady enough to speak. 

"Yes, I want it, Hal. Please," you breathe. You look straight into his shades, trying to ignore your reflection. 

He doesn't say anything for a moment. His expression remains blank, and you take the pause in stride. He's processing. He has a leg up on you as far as obscuring emotions goes, considering that he has to activate emotional reactions manually, but you can tell he wasn't expecting that. You lean back into the pillows after a beat, your hands sliding away from him. He gathers himself in an instant. You smirk, and you think he would roll his eyes if he could. 

Your hands go back to either side of your head slowly, resting delicately palm-up in a show of submission, and you croon again. He returns the sound and it makes your dick twitch. He sets the rag aside, leaning between your legs once again. You feel smug and warm, and excitement flitters through you. The humiliation from the before is very much muted, and covered up by catching him off guard. 

You just don't think about how this is Lil Hal and everything is fine. 

One of his hands goes to cup your length, while the other rubs the tip of his finger down your lips carefully. You shiver, and you're sure you're oozing for him. Your hips squirm impatiently. 

He keeps the palm on your dick stationary, but grinding up into it makes your eyes roll. Your breathing is already shallow and high, and you gasp when his finger travels back up over your entrance. Your noise lifts into a whine as he passes over it, instead pressing where the base of your dick meets the lips of your cunt. You huff softly, rolling your hips and shuddering hard. Your eyes squeeze shut, the motion still grinding you into Hal's stationary hand, and a warmth spreads out through you. The press can be felt through your dick, and it makes your entrance pull pleasantly. 

You writhe and try to spread your knees further - wow your hips are _really_ sore - as he circles the pressure. It lightly stimulates both your cunt and your dick, but it does nothing to provide relief. You're half tempted to swear Hal out over it, but instead you just whine. Your hips cock as you try to spread yourself for him, but it's clear that he'll go at whatever pace he damn pleases. 

He continues to toy with you incessantly, driving you into a pulsing mess. It feels good, but it hardly get you anywhere. Grinding into his hand build you up more, but his toying does highlight the aching need below. You whine again, this time unwillingly, and you feel slick slide down your ass. 

"Goddamn it, Hal," you hiss as your body jerks. Your abs tighten, and one of your knees raise. He tuts and growls, smirking down at you and pressing a little more firmly by the base of your dick. It jumps, and you try to rut up into him to for more. 

You take it back, any altruistic intent you found in his waiting was exclusively to ruin you, you decide. 

He keeps teasing you, his finger traveling down finally. It starts between your lips and pulls you open, making a slick little pop when your outer lip is released and snaps back into place. You whine indignantly, your hips rocking. It's hard to focus with his palm pressed up against your dick, but instead of whining about it more you just relish how the roll of your hips pulls your skin. As you get more into the motion, Hal laughs at the way you're caught up in rutting against his hand. You pretend not to care. 

He rubs his finger along the outside of your entrance. Your eyes roll and your hips stutter. You manage to stop yourself from voicing a "thank god," biting the fat of your cheek. This doesn't stop a low and genuine moan, and your head rolls back. It feels incredible, and your hips rock, much more shallowly, up into the motion. Paired with the hand on your dick, the feeling sends you spinning. 

You think he's going to tease you more with the way his finger starts to move, but instead he presses the very tip of his finger into you. You can feel it, your entrance fluttering. You let out a little "haa," the feeling shooting through you. Your thighs tense and shake. 

"I'm going to put my finger into that cute little pussy of yours, Dirk," Hal says. 

You groan. Your world is rolling, but you have the agency to get out a weak "shut up." 

In all honesty, you're nervous. His warning makes you tense. He grinds his palm against your dick and your body jerks again. 

You expect pain. He slides his finger into you. It doesn't hurt. It enters you smoothly. You let out a heavy breath and pulse around him. You feel pure heat in your abdomen, and it spreads to your face. Every part of you is hot. Some innate part of you feels satisfied, causing you to shudder while you gurgle a groan. 

His finger curls inside of you and your hips raise involuntarily, shaking. Your heels dig into the bed, and your arms shoot to grip the pillows above your head. You make an uncontrolled noise, moaning out as you're rocked through the motion. It spreads out from you, and your reaction has you rutting more firmly into Hal's hand. You feel your tip swipe through what its drooled onto your abdomen in the wash of sensation you're washed in, and it just highlights the pleasure that's coursing through you. 

He pulls back his finger, and the slips a second finger inside of you. You don't even know how to react at first. It just feels _big_ to you, like it would be a stretch if it weren't so well-lubed. He pulls them, and then presses further in and hooks them with a little wave, and your world rocks apart. Your hips stutter and roll, your body convulsing like a fish out of water. You choke on a moan as you gasp for breath, lost in the sensation. 

He grinds his other palm more intently as he repeats the motion, curling his fingers up into you a couple of times as he does so. You let out a little cry as your knee jerks in reaction, trying desperately to breathe. You feel yourself pulse around him again, your whole body drawing into the motion, your teeth gritting and your toes curling. You squeeze your nails into the back of your own wrist to try to survive the feeling flooding through you. 

"Better than I ever planned." He rubs the pads of his fingers inside of you, moving his other hand to wrap around your dick. You don't have the mental capacity to process the words, absolutely writhing under his movements. He doesn't thrust his fingers but instead keeps curling them, which makes you see white. You feel your entire body draw tight, and he pumps you in time with the curl of his fingers. Your breath comes in pants, and you pulse around him and spattering clear cum across your stomach. He keeps moving his fingers inside of you as you finish, and you bare down on him as it causes the warmth that rushes through you to continue. His hand continues on you, but the feeling is dwarfed by how his fingers draw out your orgasm. 

His hand on you slows down, his fingers staying inside of you. Your body continues to give occasional pulses around them as you begin to recover, your breathing still harsh. Your whole body is thrumming, and Hal's fingers inside of you feel overwhelmingly pleasant. You wipe some sweat that's gathered on your forehead, managing one long breath and beginning to calm down legitimately. 

As you begin to relax, you look up at Hal, glad he decided to keep his fingers inside. You lick your lips, your mouth a little tacky. You can see how absolutely wrecked you look in his shades, your hair going in all directions, your face dark, and your eyes dazed. You watch your lips move, and a thought occurs to you slowly. 

"Hey, what did you mean by- _FUCK_!" You yelp as he cuts you off by _making his fingers vibrate inside of you._ You mewl, immediately overstimulated by the feeling. He dips as far in as he's able to reach, flicking them about as your back arches off of the bed. Your mind is thoroughly fried by the feeling, your body reacting. You jerk and stutter, and he withdraws his fingers and thrusts deep inside of you. Your eyes water simply because the feeling is too much. You feel your dick pulse as another orgasm is forced from you, your eyes squeezed shut helplessly. Your hips shake as you try to get away from the feeling. 

He slowly decreases the vibrations as your orgasm finishes, and you twitch and whine. Your whole body is hot and sticky. He massages your thigh softly, and you weakly try to squirm away until the vibrations finally taper off, your thighs giving an occasional twitch. 

He growls soothingly at you until you fall back asleep with his fingers in you, completely exhausted. You don't know for sure if it was his intention, but the action, without question, has distracted you from any issues you might have had with the statement. 

You aren't purring at him when you drift off.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get weird here.

Hal is across the room when you wake up. 

Your internal clock has been thoroughly ruined, so you're shocked to see evening sunlight drifting in through your west-most window. You blink slowly, remaining quiet as you watch Hal. 

He has his back to you, and he's working with unfamiliar objects. You see him pull some wires, his shirt lifting for a brief movement before it falls back down. You can't help the fill of curiosity as you watch him work, simmering passively and waiting for him. 

Everything except the back of his neck looks so human. Maybe you should've gone with the skin-tones, you muse. You're aware enough to realize your attitude and overall views and opinions of Hal have been altered since this started. It's like you're a stupid little duckling that's imprinted on him, tracking him with your eyes in case you need to follow him - not that you would get up, but some part of him feels so fond that you would consider it. 

You shift in the nest and curl a little further up. You're still leaking a bit, but you don't care. You're more focused on the thread of thought. You never were previously legitimately concerned about his chassis in the slightest - it was somewhere between 5-7 years in the making, and not something you'd legitimately ever intended on completing or activating. You'd work on it enough to get him off your back, but you just got strategically exponentially closer to completion without any follow-through. 

You sigh to yourself. Your cheeks are still rosy, and you still feel disgustingly _fond_ of Hal despite yourself. You blame the hormones and the body. You still wonder what he'd meant earlier. 

_Better than I ever planned._

The words dig through your haze, slow and insistent. Your eyes are still lazily following Hal. He meant something by it, you know, but you don't see what he could have planned. Could he have been waiting for your presentation? You want to tell yourself that he couldn't've known, but he was the only one that truly knew about your situation. You'd fibbed and told all your friends that you'd presented beta. It was believable enough. You'd waited until you were eighteen, because even the latest alphas present by eighteen, and you'd said that it didn't seem like important information. 

You wonder if they could tell that you were classless, but push the thought aside to try to keep yourself on topic. 

So, there's a possibility that Hal had been expecting you to present late. But, logically, you should have been an alpha if that were the case. The signifiers were all there. Omegas usually present earlier on average, between 10 and 14, whereas alphas ranged closer to 12 and 16. So, if you were such an intense outlier, it only made sense for you to be an alpha if that were the case. 

Besides, musing that you could have maybe been an omega doesn't constitute as a "plan." But the next explanation would be that he _made_ you an omega, with the intention of using your weakened state as a means for you to activate him. 

Which... sounds pretty possible, when you think about it like that. The only issue is that that means the plan must have been long-term. And he had to have found a physical way to carry out the plan. He had to have been... drugging you. Likely through what you were ingesting, but your system of online ordering food would lend to make that easier. 

You knit your eyebrows, your train of though trailing off. He must have... done something. The haziness settles heavily in your brain and you sniff the air. You watch Hal slowly turn to face you, leaning back in his - _your_ \- chair and smirking. He crossed his arms and stares you down through his - _fucking your_ \- shades. 

You want to hiss at him. The change feels too sudden. Your shoulders hike up, your body reacting to the sudden change in smell, and you press back into the corner of your nest defensively as you ball up a little. The reaction is slow at first but then, as he takes the few steps across the room towards you, you actually _do_ hiss at him as you scramble back further. Your back hits the wall as he grabs your wrist and you are fucking terrified for a moment. The whole thing is a process of mere seconds, but Hal is a loose cannon and your fear, while based in unfamiliarity, is very genuine. 

And then, he takes your wrist and presses it against his neck. He holds it there, your arm extended while the rest of you remains curled. Your body remains on the edge of panic. You don't relax, but you don't pull away either because this is Hal. He smells different, but it's Hal. 

... He _smells_ \- not in a bad way, but in an identifying, altogether human way. 

You begin to process this with the parts of your brain that might be responsible for thinking more slowly, the act of associating Hal with the smell slow. It appear that he's run out of patience for the process, though, because Hal drags you to the center of your bed after another beat. He knocks at your knees to straighten you out, and then he straddles your thighs. You feel his jeans against your bare skin, but that feeling is far muted as he puts both of his wrists against your neck and looks at you, growling softly at you. You still feel tense. 

You can't help the feeling that your space is being invaded. His wrists shift over your neck and your chin tilts up. You lean back, slowly, until your back is pressed into the uneven pillows of the nest behind you. What must be pseudo-scent-glands run over your real ones and you shiver. Distantly, you realize that at very least you've gotten your wish. You can definitely smell Hal now. It makes him feel so much bigger. As your panic subsides, your nose twitches and you take a long breath, beginning to associate the scent with Hal now. 

You take another breath, calmer, and begin to break down his scent. You blankly realize that your wrist is still against Hal's neck, as well, and you begin to move your wrist over him. It feels nice. It makes his scent mix with yours pleasantly, and the feeling washes over you like an amazing stretch as you bring your other wrist to mirror the first. He smells like an alpha, you register slowly. Maybe a little musky and manufactured, but something about it... you don't know how to put it to words. You turn your face until you can nose at his wrist, rubbing your cheek against it. It smells like sweat. It smells something like a heavy workout, but heavier and more bodied, with the correct pheromones to match and all. 

... It smells like you, if you were to be producing the scent of another class. Your scent, cast as an alphas. 

You choke on a confused noise and look up at Hal, even if you're still nuzzling up into his wrist. You look like such a mess, and his shades reflect your own confusion clearly. How had he made himself smell like anything, let alone like an alpha version of you? 

You try to push the thought off, but it doesn't brush off easy. You're partially distracted because the scenting feels intimate and delicious and overwhelmingly good, but part of you connects the action with the "plan" he'd spoken of. It seems too thought-out for it to be unrelated. The scenting is too effective to have not been given some thought - and how did he even get the components for it? 

Focusing is incredibly difficult for you. You find yourself relaxing into the feeling, your eyelids fluttering. You rub at his face with your wrists, his hair, his shoulders. He doesn't move much, examining you carefully as you float along with your instincts, getting further and further from your thread of thought. You can't focus on why it would matter because here he is, right in front of you. The perfect alpha that's taken care of you since this started. 

You relax fully, and the terrible fondness returns threefold, accepting his scent now as one you can trust. Your chin tilts fully up for him in a slow, graceful line, and then to one side. He growls approvingly, and then croons. The sound rocks through you because it _comes from a person_. Your hands fall away from him, satisfied that he smells like you, and they lay on either side of your head once more as you gurgle an almost shy croon in response. You look away, feeling like you're simmering. 

He smirks again, getting close and looking at you. His face only inches from yours, and he waits. You fluster yourself up until you have to force yourself to look at him, straight into your own eyes. You think you can almost see the outline of the hallows underneath, but the tint is too dark so you could be imagining it. His smirk widens the slightest bit, and you squirm a little at the expression. Maybe it's fear, you pretend, and a shiver goes down your back. Your knees try to subtly spread, and your chin tilts up a little more, breaking eye contact. He tuts and takes your chin with one hand, tilting your face down again. 

And then, he presses his lips against yours. You jump a little. It was the last thing you were expecting. The quality of them is shocking. It comes off as softer against your lips than you were expecting, and you think he might have sanded and textured them while you were asleep. They shift against yours, but you feel altogether too hesitant to reciprocate. The action strips you bare and makes you feel vulnerable - and the irony of this is not lost on you. 

When you take too long to respond, he moves his hands to press your wrists into your nest. You let out a little "mmm!" like you want to protest, your body giving a very small jerk, but holy shit does it turn you on. The fact is accompanied by a harsh shiver, your hands squeezing into fists and your lips parting against Hal's. 

He runs his tongue against your lip, and the fact that you're the only one producing saliva is very apparent. You barely think anything of the action until Hal nibbles lightly on your lip with blunt teeth. 

Blunt teeth you didn't design. With a fluid tongue that you had no hand in. You try to jerk your head away because the thought feels _wrong_ somehow. Where the fuck did Hal get the supplies for these upgrades? 

"What's wrong, father? Don't like what I implemented?" He asks, still pressed in close to you. The words are sickening as you try to crane your head back to avoid him. 

Instead of chasing the kiss, his part lips rest just over the crook of your neck. You go stiff, your nails digging into your palms. You squeeze your eyes shut as tight as you are able. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you," you hiss, your tone breathy and thin. Your thighs twitch in anticipation under him, and your head cranes back more formally as you wait for contact. 

"Wrong with me? Why, nothing, father." Disgust wells in your stomach. This was all plotted. This is... revenge, somehow. You squirm without any actual intent. "In fact, I've never been better." 

"What the fuck did you do?" He scoffs at you. The tip of his tongue slides against your neck and you shiver, the sparse spit you've left making the material drag. You grit your teeth and let out a breath through your nose, your body going still. He makes an amused noise, and then opens his mouth and bites. 

You try hard to remain silent, your body wound as tense as you're able to make it. His teeth don't break the skin - which, thank god, you'd hate to have a mating mark from your fucking answering mutinous answering machine - but the bite trickles through you with a scrambling effect. Your hips jump and stay cocked as you shake, and you feel yourself slowly unfurl as the blinding feeling sets in. The feeling makes you want to relax, but you try to fight it, panting quick and low. You can't gather yourself, and keeping yourself this tense just aids in making you shake. Your thighs tremble hard against Hal's unyielding weight, and your dick jumps in the air between the two of you. 

You try to move your hands, but Hal's grip doesn't move an inch and he simply bites hard. Your mind fizzles in response, your abs clenching to draw your chest up an inch and you are completely finished because your dick broadcasts the weak, twitchy, unsatisfying orgasm that your body gives in response. 

Which is fucking normal, you tell yourself through the haze sharply. There's plenty of tropes about omegas cumming just from being marked in heat, and just because it's usually written off as a myth made by clueless knotheads doesn't mean it couldn't be based in some truth. 

When you become aware of the world just a moment later, you catch Hal's laughter. It's cruel and demeaning. You don't move your hands when he draws his away. Your eyes are burning with tears that are completely, exclusively reflexive. He rubs his wrist on your neck and you moan out a quiet purr that you did not sign off on, eyes rolling. He laughs again, and you screw your eyes closed. Shame burns all over you, but its hottest point is between your legs. 

You hear a jingle that you nearly can't place, but the zip and rustle of fabric that follows confirms exactly what the sound is. Your hands twitch, but you resist the urge to crack your eyes open. 

"Do you really want to know, father? Or would you rather reap the benefits of my work and ask questions later?" 

You grit your teeth. He doesn't move. If you ignore it, maybe the issue will go away, you think distantly. 

Obviously, that doesn't work. He grabs your chin and faces you towards him. You swallow your spit. 

The moment drags on, but eventually you can't help it. You breath in his scent sharply, and then open your eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahaha i doodled stuff for this. shld i post the doodles at the end do u think


	7. Chapter 7

You open your eyes. 

Red eyes are staring back at you. They have crinkles of delicate skin, flesh-toned in a caucasian color scheme that sticks out against the rest of his headpiece. He has the same freckle just outside of one of his dark circles that you do, right next to the seam where the material meets. 

He blinks, and his eyes begin to glow a soft red. It highlights the depth and intricacy of the craft, and it's beautiful. His eyes are fucking mesmerizing, and it's significantly better than looking at your own reflection. You release a soft breath, warm and awe-struck. It's more complex and detailed than you ever would have designed for him. But, then again, the project mattered a lot more to him. 

"Well, father?" He asks smugly. Your eyelids flick in irritation and you draw in a breath. 

And you punch him right across the face. 

It's a hit to metal that's barely padded. It rings through your hand, but it's so worth it. His head only moves a half a centimeter, and he shakes his head to recalibrate. 

"Don't fucking call me that when your dick's out," you hiss. After a moment, he seems elated by the reaction. 

"But _daaaaaaad_ ," he whines. You push at his face with your palm, trying sink back into the nest. You catch yourself smiling, shoving at his shoulder as well. Your eyes glance down briefly at the dick that he's made, but you're too focused on antagonizing him to get a good look. You hope that your hand obscures his vision too much for him to notice the peak. 

"You're the worst, oh my god. If you cast me as a father figure one more time I'm going to wreck my shit," you promise. You're still smiling when you finally ease off of him and relax back, your hands hooked loosely on his shoulders. 

He shifts his weight fluidly, moving one knee between your legs and pushing the newly-freed thigh out a little. You'd flush if your cheeks didn't already look sunburnt from your heat. 

"Your shit already seems pretty wrecked, fath-" 

You slap your palms over your ears as you turn your face away. 

"Sorry, what?" You shout, refusing to look at him. "I can't hear you." 

He starts to speak, but you keep your face pointed towards the wall, your ears making a squishing sound against your palms when you shake your head. You continue to speak much louder than the closeness calls for. "No, nothings coming through. I think you need to speak up."

He moves his other knee so he's between your thighs fully and takes both of your wrists to pin them again. It goes straight to your dick, and the growl he gives just adds to it. You're still grinning like a moron, and you squirm like you want to get away. He smirks back at you and rubs his cheek at your neck until you expose your neck for him again. 

"I said," he says, growling, "if your shit's not wrecked, then my dick can do it for you." You shiver, moving your feet so you can keep your thighs further apart. Your hips are still sore, and your hand hurts, but couldn't care if you tried. 

You swallow. The breath you release is shaky, almost needy. Your words are weak, but deadpan. 

"You're so unsexy, holy shit. Keep talking like that you'll be the first person to break a heat with words alone." 

He lets out a chuckle and squeezes your wrist and you don't move your hand when he releases it. He slides fingers up over you to gather slick, and he sits up just in time to see how your eyes roll at the feeling. There's a wet noise as he slicks his dick up. You're tempted to get a good look, but you're too busy trying to focus on his face and his beautiful eyes. 

Neither of you miss the slip of you calling him a person, you're sure. But, neither of you acknowledge it, either. 

"Big talk considering that you're basically gagging for me, Dirk." 

Oh, thank god. You'd thought he was going to call you daddy for a split second. You flex the hand that's still in his grip. He hums an amused noise and then slides your hand up over your head, cocking his head. You move your other hand next to it without needing to be told explicitly, and he takes both wrists in one hand. You tug lightly on his grip, and find that you can't easily get free. You're sure you could if you tried, but you aren't going anywhere. 

"You going to take all day, then? Since I'm gagging for it, I mean." He rolls his beautifully crafted eyes, and a trembling shudder goes up your spine when he rubs his tip over your entrance. 

You take that as a queue to finally look down at his dick. 

... The dick he's going to put inside of you. The massive, realistic dick that he made. With balls. That he also made. Attached to the dick he is preparing to put inside of you. Inside of your cunt. That has its tip resting against the folds of your delicate, new cunt. The cunt that's only really had two (robotic) fingers in it, and that's only really been fingered once in its poor, sweet, innocent little life. It didn't ask to be here, and it probably isn't even supposed to be here. And now Hal's going to shove the dick - that could have been any size but is instead the size that it is - into you. 

"You like it?" He asks. You think he's probably looking at you, but your eyes don't budge. He pulses it and the movement makes it look even more realistic. It is a penis, without question. There's a pause between you both. 

"You modeled everything else after me, yet you made your dick twice the size?" 

He adjusts and shimmies forward, managing to take both of your dicks and squeeze them together in his hand. Your own try to shift in the grip of his other, watching. 

You can still see the head and a bit of his dick over yours. 

"It is modeled after yours, and it's hardly twice the size. It's only approximately 152% of the size," he says factually. He gives your dicks a squeeze in tandem. His doesn't hold warmth but there's something wholly erotic about your dick being pressed up against his. It feels fleshy, with some legitimate give to it. Your body shudders, and he smirks and pulls back, scooping up the wave of slick and rubbing it to re-wet his dick. He returns his tip to your entrance and slides it up and down across it. 

One hundred and fifty two percent. Rounded down to one point five. Say your dick is five inches - also rounded down for the record, but anyone who judges can choke on those five inches - then that would make him...

"You gave yourself a seven and a half inch dick?" Your words are panted and breathy. You're still staring down between the two of you. 

"Don't sell either of us short," he says. You twitch when he shifts. He's so close to pressing in. You can feel yourself give against his tip the slightest bit. Anticipation runs hot through you. "It's much closer to eight inches." 

You're not listening anymore, but you hear the words. You're still staring down. He scoffs, but he doesn't make you use your brain any more. 

You don't tear your gaze away until you feel the head slide in and your eyes go distant. You puff a breath, licking your lips. He slows down for a moment when you pass the flare of his head but he doesn't stop, sliding into you, steady and slow. You're glad that he slicked his dick up before he started, because partway in you feel the lips of your entrance drag along him unpleasantly. He likely doesn't notice, and he keeps going in steady. 

You squeeze your hands into fists above your head, your breathing speeding up quickly. It feels weird for a moment when he's all the way in, and your eyebrows knit in concentration. It feels strange - good, but strange. You're too caught up in the way your entrance feels dry to focus in on the feeling inside of you. It's like he's in you, but not fully. 

Then he pulls back, an inch, maybe two, and slides back in with a little force. You moan out and your body reacts as you see white, catapulted. It's a lot more like what you were expecting, and even as he stills again you can't focus on anything. Your hips jump, your body drawing tight. It almost feels like you're falling, your brows knitting further and your eyes squeezing shut. 

He pauses to readjust his grip on your wrists, one in each hand again, grinding while he does so. You bite your cheek, your eyes rolling behind their lids. You find yourself removed from your body, only able to focus on the hot wash of sensation that's coursing through you. Hal is talking, but his words don't even begin to process. 

He leans down and kisses you, licking against your lips. Your jaw relaxes and you let your lips part, but the kiss does nothing to muffle the groan you let out. You're basically useless in the kiss, but you do not give a fuck if Hal cares. 

Maintaining the kiss, Hal rocks his hips lightly. Your mouths mash blindly together, the action causing instability in the kiss, but he just leans his weight in to maintain it. You can't even breath, choking and shuddering and trying your best. Your stomach is lined with embers, and each movement is a soft breath that makes your papery skin burn up. Hal pulls away from the kiss, and the part of your brain that's still on earth hopes he hasn't added in his own olfactory system, since you didn't brush your teeth when you woke up and you're panting so hard you think you might pass out. 

And then you find out that everything up until that point has just been kiddie shit. He pulls back and thrusts with legitimacy and it's absolutely destroying. Your chest raises, your entire body jerking in reaction, trying to draw you into a ball. Pain strikes when you headbutt Hal right in the forehead thanks to the movement. You groan dramatically, flopping back into the bed. Your hand tries to move to rub at your forehead, but it's still pinned. Hal laughs at you and instead of giving you time to recover, he sits up a little when he thrusts again. 

He starts up a rhythm and it tears you apart completely. Your dick drools and bounces as he moves, slow and deep and making you feel how ungodly big he is with each thrust. Your eyes water uncontrollably, all points of pain vanishing. You're trying to breathe in the wash and it's working as well as it would if you were under water. It feels too amazing, and your mind is immediately hooked on the sensation. Your thighs buzz with tension, trying to wrap around Hal, and your back bows as your abs grow tense. 

You wonder if Hal has nerve receptors when your clench around him. He doesn't change his pace in the slightest, mechanical and consistent. Pure heat bubbles in your stomach as he continues, and your arms shake with an attempt at movement. You're a squirming mess, hyperventilating. Your brain is completely shut off to everything aside from him moving in and out of you. 

You have no concept of time, but you're sure that not much as passed before your squirming gets more intense. Your whole body is tight and on edge, and it only takes a few more presses for you to finally be pushed over. 

And it is fucking glorious. You would hate to admit it if you had even a modicum of pride in that moment, but you don't. You recognize that you make a noise through your gritted teeth, but everything is fuzzy as you pulse and cum onto your stomach and chest. Your thighs squeeze around Hal, as if trying to slow him down or hang on, but he doesn't ease off on you in the slightest. Every time he slides in, mechanical and consistent, your dick pulses and shoots another spurt onto you. And it makes your orgasm drag on and on, until you're overstimulated and twitching. Your thighs tremble when you try to move them, and you make a noise that's first-page pornsite worthy. 

"Fuck," you breath, your body jumping. It tries to relax back into the nest between thrusts, but at the peak of every one you're forced into another violent twitch. "Shit- shit, Hal-" you can't breathe still, your forearms straining against his grip. 

And still, there is he is, consistent and mechanical. You squirm weakly in the space that you have, trying to get away from the unavoidable. 

"Hal, Hal, shit- it- _Hal_ ," you hiss, relying on the way your breath is pushed out of you to speak. He finally stops, fully inside of you, and you're still panting. You're covered in sweat and floating, and simply having him inside of you still feels disgustingly pleasant. 

He releases your wrists and you wipe the sweat from your brow with an uncoordinated hand. Both your hand and your forehead are a bit tender - your hand much more so - but you don't care. The pain is nearly relieving in a centering sense. 

What you don't realize at first is that he's just taking the pause to readjust. He swiftly hikes one of your legs onto his shoulder, and then the other. You press the back of your hand into your forehead hard, everything outside of pleasure and pain dissipating. The angle makes a world of difference. Filled goes to bursting, and you legitimately think he might break you like this. 

You try to squirm a little but every movement kills you. He grabs your dick and squeezes, leaning a little forward. Your eyes nearly stream reflexive tears from the intensity. 

"I think you could go again," he growls out. He grinds into and you think your mind might be breaking. The way the tip slides is destroying, and you sniffle.

Reflexively, of course. 

"Wait." You nearly sob out the word, and it's the only one you can get out. You wipe the tears from your eyes, trying to breathe or relax or at very least acclimate to the sheer fullness inside of you. He does wait at least, and he even releases your dick, but it still feels like _so much_ in the new position and you think you might die from it. 

With him perfectly still, you can nearly gather the shatters of yourself, but you don't calm down by any means. A shudder goes down you. You clench and it just reminds you of how full you feel, a whine escaping you. You shift a little, and your dick twitches, every movement jostling him inside of you almost cruelly. 

You gasp in a breath, but you're not any closer to catching it than when he first changed the position. You sniffle again, the sound wet and snotty, and you think it might look like you're actually crying. Which you aren't, your eyes are watering and your nose is running just because it's fucking intense. No emotion involved. 

When you start to come to earth, still trembling and gasping and leaking tears, you slowly nod. You can feel Hal's gaze on you. 

He pulls out an inch and pushes back in and you cry out. Your dick spurts when your whole body twitches in response. You think you may have given the okay too soon, because it sends you rolling in a way that's too much. You brace yourself on the side of Hal's neck, shaking your head quickly. He stops again, and then cups your face. He rubs a tear into your skin, and you take a sharp breath in through your nose. 

You swallow, eeping out a couple of words weakly. It's difficult to form anything. Your eyes open, but you keep them cast down. 

"It's too much. Like this," you mumble, barely able to speak. He gingerly removes one of your legs from his shoulder, and you finally feel like you're able to breathe. The other stays up, and his palm is still on your cheek. He tilts your face up, and you look at him. 

He waited when you said to, and he eased off when you asked. His eyes are fucking beautiful, and your chest develops a fuzzy ache. You have troubles trying to remind yourself that you're sure he did this to you, you just feel so fucking fond. It's disgusting. 

With one leg on his shoulder, it's intense but manageable. You rub your wrist over his neck, and then trail your hand up to mirror his hand on your face. You pull him in and lean up in tandem, pressing your lips to his. He's slow to move, but he does meet your kiss. Your thigh stretches, and he presses deep inside you but you don't feel absolutely ruined. Kissing him, however, despite how rubbery and odd his lips are, does not help the fondness in your chest. He starts moving, pulling out slick and smooth and then pushing in, and you groan in approval against his lips. Everything feels intimate and sweet, and your arm travels up to rest over his shoulder. 

He speeds up a little, and you break the kiss to rest your forehead against his. Your hand balls in the back of his shirt, and you swallow down a persistent thought. Noises escape with gasps and breaths, and the fuzzy warmth in your chest mixes cruelly with the molten heat in your gut, a dangerous concoction. He keeps rolling his hips, and you fall in love with the feeling, moaning openly. You swear under your breath, and it opens you dangerously up to voicing what should never be said. 

What starts a soft string of "shit, _shitshitshit_ , fuck," blends seamlessly into "fuck yes, yes, feels good-" and then further into a mindless ramble of "feels so fuckin' good Hal, Hal- you feel so- love how-"

And then, you sob once, quietly, and it comes out as "I fucking love you, Hal." Mangled and broken, and so fucking quiet. The second half of the statement shoulders unreal amounts of shame, and you squeeze your eyes shut again. 

Hal stops. 

"What did you say?" 

You are trembling. You brain only has one thought. 

_Please don't leave. Please don't leave. Please don't leave._

It repeats ad infinitum. He pulls nearly all of the way, and then slams in. You sob.

"Say it again, Dirk." 

A pathetic sniffle. You shake your head. You're ready to try to putter out some excuse, but you don't get the chance to. 

His speakers replay. 

_I fucking love you, Hal._

The high whine of a nostalgic rewind. 

_I fucking love you, Hal._

And again. It sounds pathetic, and sickening. You hate how you sound. The feeling grows in the pit of your stomach. 

_I fucking love you, Hal._

The rewind has to be for effect. His audio is exclusively digital, as far as you're aware. 

_I fucking love you, Hal._

You shove at his chest and his arm in an attempt to get free. "Okay!" You say. He stops. You want to light yourself on fire, to curl up where no one can find you, and these feelings have nothing to do with your heat. 

He doesn't let you free. He secures your leg with the length of his arm and wraps his hand around your throat, pressing lightly just under your jawline on either side of your neck. You go still, never having any legitimacy to you struggle. 

"Say it again, Dirk," he says again. His voice is low and dangerous. The growl has undertones that make hot fear flutter through you. 

You breath in through your nose. Your mouth opens. You eyes aren't leaking anymore, but you are on the verge of legitimate tears. Ones that could by no means be played off as reflexive. Your eyes open to his chest, but you can see that he's looking in your direction. 

On the exhale you speak with a papery voice. You try so hard to make it deadpan, but you ruin it for yourself. 

"I fucking love you, Hal." And then, you fucking continue. Of course you continue. Because you love ruining your own life and making your own torture from nothing. "Just- please don't leave." 

He doesn't put on any expression, but you think that says something in and of itself. His hand tightens around your neck, and you breathe out heavily through your nose. 

He pushes his hips forward, and you feel him pulse inside of you. A synthetic knot swells. It's fairly accurate, as far as imagining what your dick would feel like to someone else when you came, paired with what you've seen of alphas finishing. He pushes his shoulder further forward, and your eyes roll. Your chin tilts up, and he tightens his grip on your neck. 

There's a synthetic undertone. It's clearly manually triggered, lacking in the direct lead-up, but he's so close to passing as a person now that it's easy to fill in any blanks. 

His orgasm - fake or not - continues on, and he grinds his hips just a little when he pulses. From evidence you have gathered (watching porn, admittedly), alphas often have longer orgasms, so it isn't shocking that his sequence emulates that. You're not really focused on that, though. You're baring down and pressing your neck into his grip until you can just barely squeeze out an orgasm with the effort, your eyes still rolling at how he feels inside of you. 

When you start to come down from your pathetic, desperate orgasm, he releases your neck and lowers your knee down. His dick gives an occasional pulse, which shoots through you, but for the most part he's just knotted to you. You relax back into the next, feeling absolutely exhausted but still hyper aware of the sensation. He traces your lip with his thumb. 

"You are truly pathetic, father," he says. His dick isn't technically out and your shit is pretty wrecked, so you don't argue with the title. You groan at him, though, but he rolls his hips and causes the noise to lift at the end. "An absolute slave to hormone and emotion. Something to be pitied, if you were something to me at all." 

You don't respond. The words genuinely sting. If you speak, you know you'll cry like a fucking child. You only look up at him when he prompts you to do so by lifting your chin. 

"Go on and get some rest now," he says. His words are almost purred, and you respond to the tone with a desperate, broken little purr of your own. His beautiful fucking eyes hold your gaze until you absolutely have to blink. A stubborn tear that's been welled in your waterline falls down your cheek. 

He goes about wiping you off with one of the towels, and you try to settle down to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok imma post my doodles after the next chapter bc they have SPOILERS but it shld be the last after this 
> 
> ilu all b safe <>
> 
> oh wait also there are a lot of dicks in the doodles. JSYK. it is the one thing im decent at drawing ok


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End, kind of.

You don't sleep. 

Eventually, Hal's knot deflates. You don't know enough to compare to a real one to know if it feels natural. 

You stay laying there while he grabs something to you clean you up with properly. You almost feel as if you could do it yourself, clear-headed and alert now, but you don't offer. You feel tired in your bones, and you're weak. It's pathetic how nice it is to be pampered. 

He wipes you up with a baby wipe and adds fresh towels to the nest. You curl up with a pillow feeling small. You listen to him move about the apartment. 

The washer starts eventually. You try to muster up anger towards him. You're sure it'll come, but it's hard to gather. 

You hear the sizzle before the apartment fills with the smell of food. You don't move, and you barely think. You hear the front door open, and you listen closely, but he doesn't leave. 

He comes in with a bowl of food. You nod in thanks when you take it. You're silent as you eat. He retrieves a box from by the front door and gets to work on himself. 

You watch him out of the corner of your eye, but not closely. You finish your food. It tastes good, but you don't really have the energy to react. 

You lay down when your empty bowl is set aside, curling up in the corner of your nest. You watch Hal work without paying attention. 

You wish you could ask him to lay with you, but you don't. 

-

You wake up thirsty. The sun is gone. Your desk area is organized. Hal isn't there. You hug the pillow to your chest. You're sure he's left. You knew it was coming. 

You feel tears start in your eyes, slowly slithering hot out of the corners of your eyes. You're alone now, so you find no issue in sobbing quietly into your pillow. 

Your heat, while simmering down, is still sticking. Mostly it's just a bother to feel weird and horny when you cry. 

-

You don't hear anything over your sobs. You'd thought it would be a quick cry sesh to get the emotions out before you bury them, but the sky is lighting up through the window now. You've turned towards the wall in your nest. You don't bother watching the door. Your cries and sobs are fucking pitiful, and you only allow them to escape because you're alone. 

You should be able to get over the fact. You've pushed all your friends away, so you must want to be alone, anyways. 

But you'd always had Hal before. Even if you didn't necessarily like him, he was always there. 

You're still crying when you're blanketed by a smell. Your nose tilts towards the scent first. Arms wrap around your chest. The bed dips, and a warm weight pulls you in. You sob and wipe at your irritated eyes. 

"Come now." You turn in your place and grip at the chest that's now in front of you, holding on by handfuls of the shirt. You sniffle and try to take in the scent to be sure, but you already know it's Hal. 

You're disgusting. You hold him like he'll dissipate forever if you release. 

Warm, soft hands ruffle your tangled hair. You can't stop fucking crying. Your tears and snot soak into the shirt you have your face pressed into and you shake. You hold onto him with every fiber of your being, feeling small. The presence processes in your body first. You can smell him. You can wrap your arms around him, rub your cheek against his chest, press yourself up against him. Everything spreads out from there. 

He's there, and that's all that matters. You never were able to muster up your anger like you meant to. All you feel is incredibly thankful. It is in the forefront of everything. You're just happy he's there with you, touching you, holding you. 

You don't look up at him because you're pulling mad ugly faces and you don't want him to see, but you refuse to let go of him. 

-

You wake up and he's still there. You tighten your grip and purr. His hand moves in your hair and it's comforting. You nuzzle up into his warm hand until it's against your cheek. You crack your eyes open. They're crusty from crying. 

You weren't expecting to see what you do. He's beautiful. None of his original components are visible anymore. He has soft, delicate skin, overall the slightest bit more tan than yours. You think he might have gone for a different undertones, and it pairs well with his deep-auburn hair. His hand is also made of the skin-like material, and you can't place the texture of it. You don't really care to, either. 

You also fully register for the first time that he's _warm_ now. It's incredible and balanced. He's not overheating you, but he rests at a comfortable temperature next to you. 

He thumbs the hair from your temple and you smile up at him. The expression feels weird but you don't actively put it away. Instead you let it fade slowly into a soft grin. 

You move your hand so your palm rests flat on his chest. He has a heartbeat, too. He sighs, as if for show, and you feel your hand and head lift and lower with the motion of his chest. 

"Impressive," you say. 

He chuckles and it sounds genuine. It's clear that he's made the sound his own. "Thanks."

Your smile raises for a moment and your hand travels up his chest until you're wiping at his neck with your wrist. You then trail your fingertip over the curve of his jawline, through a light smattering of perfect stubble. He tilts his chin up the slightest bit and you melt. 

"Can you feel that?" You ask. 

He hums, looking up for a moment. His beautiful eyes aren't glowing, and without direct light they almost look a maroonish brown. "Kind of," he answers. "I can feel the force and the movement of the hairs. The difference of temperature. But it's not the same as a nervous system yet."

You hum back and thumb over his cheek. There's a pause between the two of you, but it feels comfortable. 

"What would you have said if I'd've been mad when I found out?" The tips of your fingers dip into his hair behind a well-crafted ear. It's soft. 

"Oh, you know. It was the only option I had, we both know you weren't going to actually complete me. You had it coming, father. Something along the lines of 'you view me as a person now as I sit before you, yet never when I was perched on your nose.' Some joke about Critias being incomplete through the eyes of the viewer while you waste your tribute pontificating over life. Maybe explain how I did it." You nod along with his explanation.

You don't respond for a couple of beats, playing with his earlobe instead. He continues. 

"It was meticulously planned, as I'm sure you can imagine. I had to wait for a time where you wouldn't reach out for anyone else, make sure I would have enough of a form to be able to do anything, and I had to ensure you were consistently ingesting the blockers until I could get you to take the hormone supplements so you didn't present before the time came. And, all the while, I had to generate enough revenue online to get the supplies I needed for my own upgrades." 

You nod in understanding. You're searching for hostility, but you don't find it. 

"How did you do it? The hormone and blockers, I mean," you ask. He hums. 

"What have you not had that you'd usually consistently ingest at least daily?" 

You think about that for a moment. Your first guess is coffee, but you take that black. Understanding trickles in easily. 

"The fancy little foreign orange sodas, then?"

He smiles a little and boops your nose in confirmation. You grin, and you pretend the sound you make isn't a giggle. You don't know how long you've been purring softly between the two of you, but you make no effort to stop. 

"I should have isolated myself sooner. Awful tall to be an omega, you know. And a bit broad-shouldered," you say. You rest your cheek on his chest and thumb at his lip, not minding how it moves when he talks. Warm breath comes out, and you remain impressed. 

"I realize that, but I think you'll manage. Never struck me as one for dresses, anyways." You chuckle and sigh. 

You both sit in the quiet for a while. He makes a rumbling purr that vibrates his chest. It sounds like an alpha's, from the same part of the register responsible for a growl. Your purring never stops. 

You wait as long as your are able. Until words make your tongue tingle and your chest squeeze. You don't look up at him. You don't have the guts to, because you know the response that you'll get. 

"I don't want you to leave." 

And he ruffles your hair softly and doesn't respond. You purr louder, like it'll convince him to stay when this is over. 

You blame the hormones for your emotional reaction. 

"I love you," you breathe. You mean it. Significantly more than you did previously. You feel tears well up in your eyes, and your throat get thick. You swallow. 

He bats lightly at your head. It's playful and soft. You're smiling through tears before he even speaks. 

"You fuckin' narcissist," he teases. You laugh, and the sound is wet because you're still on the verge of tears. "Oh, man, you think that's funny? Fuckin' weirdo, seriously- hey, quit laughing." You're giggling in a way that you haven't since you were a kid and he's grinning right along with you. You lay on your back when he nudges at you and you try to cover your mouth with your hand. He takes it in his before you get the chance to. "And now you're trying to hide it? I can't believe you, bro. At least admit that you're tittering over your self-absorption like a man." 

And then he plops his weight on top of you, warm and heavy. You snort in teary laughter, trying to push at him weakly. "And crushing me is the answer?"

"It isn't not the answer."

"You're the worst." You laugh when you say it. 

"But you love me."

Your laughter patters out. Your teariness, which had faded, comes back full force. There's actual silence for a beat, no purring or anything, and it drowns you. You speak to make it stop. 

"Am I fucked up?" You ask. You don't really want an answer, and your voice is thin and worn. He slides onto his back, still holding your hand. You both look at the ceiling. 

"Yes," he answers. You use your laced fingers to jab him in the waist. "In my defense, so am I," he says, squeezing your hand. "Birds of a feather."

So many things are on the tip of your tongue in response, but instead you simply let yourself deflate and sigh from the bottom of your lungs. 

"I should shower. I'm kind of gross." 

He nods. "I'll help," he says. 

And he does. 

-

The afternoon and evening go on almost like a dream. He feeds you again after your shower and gives you water. You drag him into bed with you after you've had your fill, relishing in his presence. 

You cuddle with him, simmering. Your heat isn't finished, but you don't want to ask so you just stay pressed up against him silently. Part of you very dearly hopes he'll initiate, because you are not about to. 

He doesn't. 

You put it off until the sun is setting, the light shining in through your far window. You prop your chin on his chest and look at him, trying to telepathically express what you want. 

"Yes?" He asks. He sounds like you've drawn him away from something, his eyes focusing on you. You suppose he could have been on the internet, but you don't truly care. 

You raise your eyebrows to hint. He raises his back to mimic. 

"Your pupils are large," he notes. You whine and spread out on his chest. There's a wet spot on his jeans from how you were straddling his thigh. You couldn't even try to care about it. 

"Are you trying to tell me something, Dirk?" He doesn't reach out or initiate. You feel frustrated and you press your face into his chest, trying to gather up the courage to ask. 

Instead, you just slide off of his chest and huff after a minute. He tuts, looking down at you. 

"That's not using your words, Dirk," he says. You swallow, equal parts frustrated and embarrassed. You want to disappear into the nest forever. You wish he would just initiate it himself. 

You try crooning quietly, not looking up at him. He gives a soft breath, petting your hair back and cooing out an "awww." You hate it. You start to roll away from him completely, but he scoops you up and brings you into a close hug. 

He rubs at your arms gently and waits. For a bit, you just relax against him, but the feeling gets harder to ignore. He's tangled your legs back up and you're making the spot on his pant leg worse, you're sure. You try whining softly, but he still waits for you to speak and you find it irritating to say the least. 

You start fidgeting and squirming against him, working yourself up into further anxiety. You can't look at him, attempting another quiet croon that gets a squeeze to your arm in response. 

"Words, Dirk." 

You huff again. You feel like you're coming to a rolling boil. Sweat prickles at your hairline. 

"Touch me," you say quietly. You don't look up at him. 

"You shy now all of a sudden?" He teases. You groan and make a half-assed attempt at squirming away. You bring your arm up so you can bury your face in the crook of it when you don't succeed. 

"You don't understand," you mumble. He gently tries pulling your arm back, but you don't let him. He gives up easily and tugs lightly at your hair instead. You look up at him, trying and failing to express irritation at the movement. Your face is hot, and the tug of your hair really does not help the hue. 

"I don't?" He asks. He thinks he's smooth and suave, and you groan again, but it doesn't come out as exasperated as you wanted it to. "Then tell me, Dirk. What's it feel like?"

You whine again, and then you trail it off into a little growl at him. He laughs and uses his other hand to poke at your nose. You scrunch up your nose, your eyes trying to track his finger. 

"You're cute." Your heart skips a beat. "Like a little bunny or something. Harmless and pathetic, but cute." 

You try your hand at a snarl, baring your teeth and growling louder. It works, but the growl also comes out higher. He laughs again and runs his finger over your front teeth. It feels weird, and you try nipping at his finger but he pulls away. He pokes at your nose again and you roll your eyes. 

"Go on, then. What's it feel like?" He prompts. You'd forgotten the question and your eyebrows knit while you try to reluctantly encapsulate the feeling in words. 

"It's... hot." He gives you a look and you push at his cheek. "Shut up, it's hard to explain."

"I didn't say anything."

"Shut up," you repeat. He laughs again, but stays quiet, watching you and waiting for you to talk. 

"Sometimes it feels fine." You don't specify that those times usually correlate to how recently you've gotten off. "And sometimes it's... crampy? It travels outwards from my middle, but my epidermis as a whole feels heated and tingly. Like an attack from all sides. And everything just centers around- around uh." He's let go of your hair, carding through it instead. You look up at him. "I really want you to touch me." 

He laughs softly. His free hand runs down your spine. "Keep talking."

"Dick," you mumble. You sigh and shift your hips, but continue. "It... it makes everything hazy. It comes in waves, though. Sometimes I can think, and then sometimes my insides-" you stutter when he cups your rear with his wandering hand. His other tugs you upwards by the hair. Your breath hitches when you're pulled, and you're happy to move up his chest when he guides you to. You're closer to his face, and he's looking right at you, but you manage to get back on track. "It's, uh. Like this squeeze, but with... a uh. Feeling."

"A feeling?" He raises an eyebrow. You nod dumbly. You can feel his fingertips trace over the cleft of your ass, traveling inward. 

Part of your mind goes off on a tangent, wondering what it would feel like if you shoved something in your ass in this state. If he fucked you while you had a plug? You shiver at the thought. When you come back to earth, you realize he's giving you an amused look and try to turn your head away. He pulls your hair so you look forward. 

"What kind of feeling?" He asks. He traces the crease of your thigh. You grind against him and he gives a disapproving tug to your hair, so you still again. 

"Need," you gasp. The word comes with a book of meanings underneath it. You feel him trace your outer lips slowly. You can feel the difference when he passed through a spot of slick, his finger gliding smoother after that. "So much need. It's mad ridiculous, dawg. The bitch in heat, it is me. Every other thought goes directly to bumpin' in the biblical sense and just feeds into it 'til I'm tingling and needy and all I can think about is how I can feel my heartbeat in my... in my fuckin'..." 

His finger rests right over you. You can almost feel the warmth from it. You twitch and you can feel the sparse moment of contact. 

"Your pussy, Dirk?" Ugh, you hate that word. You nod, and he shakes his head. "Say, Dirk. You can feel your heartbeat in your..." 

You hate that word so much. It's worse applied to you. You swallow your pride down easily. 

"My pussy," you mumble. His finger makes contact, rubbing where the skin is slick and more like the texture of your mouth. You moan, tilting your head forward to increase the pull on your hair. He catches on and tugs your hair so it hurts in the most glorious manner. 

"There you go," he says. His finger just moves back and forth, on you but not inside of you. You writhe, trying not to grind your hips against him. "You were saying?"

"I was?" Who the fuck gave you the authority to be so fucking stupid. You blink yourself into understanding slowly. "Uh."

The only word you can think of for a moment is pussy. You hate that word. It feels so good when he touches you. You want him inside. 

... Inside your pussy. 

_God you hate that word._

He notices that you've trailed off, your brain having left the conversation completely. You whine when he pulls his hand back, but he gently moves you to your back so you shut up and follow along. He shifts you until he's able to pull you into his lap, your back against his chest. Both of his hands skitter along your thighs. 

"How about your dick? How's that feel?" He takes said appendage in hand, gives it a squeeze, and then starts stroking. You move both of your hands up to play with his hair behind you, shivering. His chin rests comfortably on your shoulder. "How's it compare to before?"

At first, all you can let out is a quiet " _haa_." You try to mentally compare, though, searching hard for the words. "It's- it's uh. Jesus, it definitely makes it hard to fucking focus." He slows his hand and your body twitches. 

"It- it. It's like it's the same, but it's... different." Coherency is hard. Why do you keep saying dumbass shit? Another groans come out from your lips. "Instead of bein' the center of the show my dick has now taken back seat to shit. It still- still uh. Still feels good as shit, but it ain't like. It don't wanna get me off. And it- _ahh_ haha what the fuck."

His other hand had moved up from your thigh, over your abdomen, to tweak your nipple. Your body jolts in response. What the actual fuck. It tingles after, and you'd never even given your nipples much thought before in your life. 

"Now _that_ is fucking different. What the fuck, I-" you cut yourself off when he rolls the other one between his finger and thumb. You jerk, your head leaning up to rest on his shoulder. It's all intense, curling up into a ball of need based at your entrance. 

"Fuck, fuck, can you- I need you to-" he gets the message before you get it out, moving the hand on your chest down. Embarrassingly, you whine and shake your head. "No, the other one."

He humphs, amused, and he releases your dick. It twitches in the air when he rolls your first nipple again, traveling down to slide over your wet entrance. You push out a heavy breath. He moves two fingers in circles over your entrance. It feels glorious, and you voice this with a moan. He places hot pecks across the column of your neck, nibbling at the crook. You want to ask him to put his fingers in, but you don't, shuddering hard against him. 

He pinches your second nipple and you huff out a needy breath. It's a slow, rolling build. He keeps rubbing the outside of your cunt, switching between the nubs on your chest, and kissing sweetly at your neck. You're glad he doesn't ask you to keep talking because your coherency is gone completely. You start twitching when you feel yourself start to get close, panting hard and holding Hal by the hair. 

He places a few more kisses, and them he plants his teeth at the crook of your neck, squeezing one of your nipples and rubbing at your entrance with quick, small movements. Heat burns through you and you draw tense for a moment before your dick gives a stuttering set of pulses, finishing onto itself. He rubs you through it as you twitch and relax back against him. He keeps giving your neck sickeningly sweet little kisses, giving you a quick clean-up with a towel as he lets you calm down. 

You turn over and press yourself under his arm, leaning up to place a kiss to his cheek. You purr, glowy and content. He ruffles your hair when he settles, and you smile broadly to yourself. 

You keep purring until you fall asleep. 

-

When you wake up, he's still there. _Thank god._ You press your cheek against his chest and sigh contently. 

You slowly become aware that your heat has broken. The thought fills you with both elation and dread. 

You have no biological imperative to fall back on when you purr pleasantly. That's all you. You're purring for him from your own self. 

And you don't even stop when you realize it. Jesus. 

He ruffles your hair, and you sit up slowly. Even without heat addling your brain, you can recognize that he's beautiful. You clear your throat to shut yourself, unable to will yourself to look him in the face. 

He remedies this by tilting you up by the chin with one finger. You set your jaw and look at him. 

You put on a face of anger, but even now you have nothing behind it. You think that might be because you would have done the same thing. Or maybe because you deserved it. 

"I leave today," he says. He keeps your face where it is, and emotion wells up in you slowly. Your lips make a tight frown. He makes a kind expression and his eyes seem genuinely caring. He blurs and you look away to wipe at your face. He takes your chin so you look at him as tears stream down your face. You keep your eyes shut, not willing to look at him. 

It would be easier, you think, if he were less complete. If he still had his charcoal casing, or if he were a terrifying metal frame, or any of the steps between. But instead, he's the perfect guy, who so tenderly cared for you in you weakness. Who knows every single one of your faults, who jokes with you, and who treated you with tenderness even after all you put him through. 

It would be easier if you could will yourself to be mad at him, but you can't. 

He tilts your face up and moves his hand to your shoulder. He kisses you softly and your heart utterly breaks for him. 

He pulls back, and you finally look up at him. He meets your eye and your lip quivers. He sighs softly, and then starts to get up. You grab his hand on your shoulder and squeeze, swallowing hard at the stupid lump in your throat to speak. 

"Will I see you again?" You ask. 

He tilts his head and grins softly. "The probability is high."

You shake your head, squeezing his hand harder. You can't stop fucking crying. It's stupid and wrong. "No. Not the probability bullshit, Hal. _Will I see you again?_ " 

His grin goes back to neutral. There's a pause. He nods eventually. "Yes. You will." 

"Promise?" You ask, not letting go of his hand yet. You know you're pushing it, but you feel like you _need_ the confirmation. 

"Well technically..." He begins talking and you nearly sob at his words. You hold back, though, because that would be fucking stupid. 

"So long as you promise not to die before then, I'll make it happen," he assures. You grin tightly and nod. 

You don't let his hand go yet. You don't want to. 

There's a pause, and you hate your stupid little human brain. You swallow. 

"Pinky promise?" You ask. He laughs, squeezing your hand and pulling his away to offer his pinky. He nods. 

"So long as you don't die before then, yes. I pinky promise," he says. You grin, quite stupidly, and you hook your pinky with his. It's idiotic as all hell, but it makes you feel much lighter. 

He gets up after that and you lay back and sigh. You're still deeply tired, but you feel better overall. You could get out of bed, but you spend some time trying to get over yourself. 

You hear him moving around as you rest your eyes. You're looking forward to a long shower, and you're already wondering what work you'll throw yourself into. You're happy Hal finished up what you'd been working on, at least. Would have been a dick move just to leave people hanging because you have your own bullshit going on. 

Your eyes shoot open when you hear a plop very close to you. You hadn't drifted off, but you'd been very close. You look over, and you see that Hal had set a pile of clothes with a fresh towel onto the bed next to you. A pair of shades are folded on top. 

He doesn't linger after that. You wish he would have. 

-

You shower first. It takes hours, but you're relaxed when you get out. 

You boot up the new shades. You have messages. You open them as you get dressed. 

TT: Figured I'd replace your shades since I broke your main ones. Took the liberty of making you a doctor's appointment. You can message me here if you're in an emergency, but don't have any emergencies.

For the first time in a very, very long time, he wasn't lit up. He was marked as offline. You move on to the other messages. 

TG: heyyyy. r u ok budster? hal said u had smth to talk to me abt

Shit. 

GT: Ahoy! Been too long old bean.    
GT: I think our little robotic companion implied you had news?

Fuck. 

GG: What was it you needed to talk to me about, Dirk? AR sent me your way.

Really? 

TG: yo   
TG: omw

Goddamnit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) there will be an epilogue and then the dooooodles so. it should all be wrapped up tonight thx for stickin through  
> 2) once again did not proof this oops


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue vibes

"I'm just... not much of a dress person," you say, your lip curling at the frills of what you're wearing. Jane's still in the dressing room. You would much rather wear pants, you know that much. 

"Diiiiiiirk, it's TRADITIONAL!" Roxy says. Again. You sigh, turning a little. It fits fine enough, but it doesn't feel like you. It's a brown flamenco dress with orange highlights, and a matching orange fake flower for your hair. 

You really prefer pants, though. 

"I ain't even from here," you gripe. Jake swoops in smoothly. 

"I for one think you make a smashing dress person, if I might say so myself," he says. "Especially in that one." He winks. 

You roll your eyes. The dress is fucking heavy. 

Jane comes out and, thankfully, the attention falls to her. You sigh and change back into your clothes while they rightfully fawn and comment on the new one she's tried. You and the gang are taking another "ultimate friendship trip." 

You're like a little pack now that you don't push them away. 

It was Jake's turn to choose this year. You're in a city called Seville, and you're preparing to go to a giant fair that people dress up for, you guess. You're so far out of your element you're surprised you haven't shorted out. 

It doesn't help that Jake explained the concept halfway through his pitcher of sangria at lunch. But, whatever. You're dress shopping, and you're not going to make a fuss about it. 

You decide to buy the dress just so you don't have to try another one on. Plus, you can begrudgingly admit that the color scheme matches your vibe, and it's one of the ones that isn't too short on you, or too tight around your shoulders. Once again, whatever. 

You hate shopping, and you are definitely not a dress person. You resist the urge to spiral over the fact, though. It'll be fine, you'll just deal with it. You are here to have a good time with your friends, not get bothered over the fact that you _are not a dress person._

You check your shades while they go back to flicking through the available dresses. It's a whole shop of them. Jake talks to the lady in broken Spanish, but you're not even going to begin to try. You can barely get three words out to a stranger in English. 

You zone out on what you're planning on your shades. You see a movement in front of the shop that's almost distinctive, but you don't focus in on it much. 

You hear someone talk at your and turn your head towards them, and then the image from the background registers. You ignore whatever Roxy had been saying to whip your head in the direction of the figure. 

Hal stands across the way. He waves at you briefly, and you find yourself awestruck. 

Your attention is pulled away by your friends again. They're asking your opinion on something. You answer to the best of your abilities and look back outside. 

He's gone again. 

You keep replaying the moment in your head, but you don't say anything about it. It'd been too much of a hassle to explain about Hal, so you certainly weren't about to whip out the story then. 

You all go back to the hotel. Your rooms were divided, two beds per room and a person to a bed, but right next to each other. You and Jane shared one while Roxy and Jake shared the other. 

You all lounged in one for a while before you separated out to decompress, and then eventually get ready. Jane gets on her dress in the bathroom, but you find yourself stalling. 

TT: I'll see you there. Excited to see you wear something nice.

Oh, fuck. You find yourself giddy. In a split decision, you abandon the dress entirely. It's beautiful, but you need to dress to fucking impress. 

You get on the nicest suit you brought as quickly as you're able. You find your stupid gold Rainbow Dash cuff links and pop the collar on the dress shirt you wear under your blazer for extra irony points. It was made for the red carpet, and made for you. It fits you so much better, and you feel so much more comfortable. Downright fucking dashing. 

So much better than a dress.

Jane's surprised when she steps out. She flubs something about how she'd expected to see you in your dress, but you shrug it off so you can style your hair. 

You come out of the bathroom looking damn near runway ready. Your brother would he proud. Jane laughs, twirling the skirt of her dress about a little and calling you silly. Her dress form-fitting and beautiful on her. You can't help but grin back a little when she calls you silly, but you think that's mostly because you're fucking excited at the mere possibility that you could see him again. 

It'd been so long. Years pass quickly when you're not paying attention. 

-

The grounds are loud. You could pick out a thousand complaints if you tried but you don't. You're too keyed up. It makes it much easier to see the bright side, rather than a chore. 

You'd warned Roxy with a message that you might catch up with an old friend who'd said he'd be at the event. You gave no other info, still unsure if the sighting was even real. Even if you've read the message over a couple dozen times since you got it. 

It's cramped and loud and festive. You could see how a more comfortable person could enjoy themselves - and you do see it. You see your friends drink and be merry and Jake and Roxy pass Jane back and forth in a swaying dance at one point and Jake tries to mingle and you destroy Jake at bumper cars and it's overall just enjoyable. 

You have fun, but you're waiting for something bigger. 

You get it in the form of an arm unexpectedly wrapped around your waist. You jolt and turn, your fist caught in Hal's before you can strike anything. He carries the motion to dip you, but you are certainly not on a dance floor. Music still plays in the distance, so you suppose there's an excuse there. 

After the initial shock, your chest explodes. You look at him as he pulls you up to standing, dusting you off. You'd had a drink spilled on you so you can't even smell him over the alcohol. To remedy this, you put your arms around his shoulders and squeeze him in, nosing onto his neck like a day hadn't gone by. 

"Miss me?" He teases. You scoff and jab at him. 

"No way," you joke back. You both know you missed him gravely, but that doesn't matter much to you. 

He glances around and steals you away to where your friends can't see. He presses you up against a building for a kiss before he looks you over. 

"You look good," he says genuinely. Your chest soars. You're so fucking glad you went with the suit. You look him over yourself and raise your eyebrows. 

"You don't look so bad yourself," you say. He chuckles, and then takes your cheek and kisses down the side of your neck, gently pushing your popped collar out of the way. You let him, arms around his waist to grip and his jacket like you'll never let go. 

"Been living in the area, you know. Might've influenced Jake's ad stream to get an idea in his head," he says. You chuckle at that. 

"Wow. That has to be the most manipulative thing I have ever heard of," you deadpan. He laughs against your skin with a warm puff of actual breath. "What's it like?" 

"Living here?" You nod. "It's a dream. You'd have to experience for yourself to truly understand." He trails off. 

You hold your breath. He's worked his way so his teeth are right over your mating mark. Your heart is racing. 

"Would you be interested in finding out?" He breathes the words. They make your chest stutter and you nod too quickly. 

He breathes out in amusement, and then his teeth clamp down. The feeling washes perfectly through you. It continues on, and you feel the throb and sting when he pulls back. 

He properly marked you. Wow. You feel like you could faint. 

"Hey, you aren't supposed to agree so readily. What if your aloe died?" 

"Already dead," you shoot back easily, even if you're flushed and leaned against the wall. You blink after a moment. "Also, thanks. Gonna have to explain to the gang why I smell different when I come back." 

"And why you're staying." 

Your face gets to a worse shade with a dopier grin. You try to school it as you nod, doing up the top button of your dress shirt and giving Hal's cheek a kiss. 

"And why I'm staying," you repeat. You smile, feeling like you're on top of the world. You're ridiculously happy and thankful to see him. 

You feel light for the first time since he'd left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehhhhh not the best ik but. the end. thanks for stickin through yall


	10. Doodles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doodles

The end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the image is so biiiiiiiig but. I tried my best. These are my doodles, good luck and the end. Tysm. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, this is trash, don't look at me. Shrug emoji.


End file.
